


Heartlines

by shiftylinguini



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Auror Training, Bisexual Harry Potter, Blow Jobs, Community: hd_erised, Forced Bonding, Forced Proximity, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Intercrural Sex, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Magical Theory, Pining, Post Hogwarts, Sharing a Bed, Some violence and mentions of blood, Wandless Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-03 14:09:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 72,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12749880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiftylinguini/pseuds/shiftylinguini
Summary: Harry never expected he’d end up chipping away at his virginity while wandless and bonded to Malfoy in Northern Europe.He never expected that would turn out to be the least surprising thing to happen while out on their training expedition in the middle of nowhere, either.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BloodyFlammable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyFlammable/gifts).



> Bloodyflammable, you are such a lovely person, a gorgeous artist and writer, and a total gift to fandom. Your sign up was an absolute treasure trove of amazing things, and I had the time of my life picking through them and piecing this together! I got hooked on bonds, and wandless magic, as well as bed sharing, and I _so_ hope you enjoy this gift.
> 
>  _Huge_ thanks to my incredible beta for the indispensable help, keen eye, and fabulous attention to detail, not to mention suggestions along the way, and to my bloody amazing alpha/cheerleaders/support group for holding my hand and putting up with me as I dived into this mad plot. 
> 
> And lastly, enormous thanks to the mods for all their hard work with this fest!! <3
> 
> \- Gorgeous artwork now [here](https://ingefaerel.tumblr.com/post/172855724803/im-definitely-not-an-artist-but-here-we-are), [here](https://ingefaerel.tumblr.com/post/172868824428/another-small-heartlines-thing-for)and [here](https://ingefaerel.tumblr.com/post/172992525243/drarry-still-inspired-by-heartlines) by Ingefaerel!
> 
>  Title from the song of the same name by Broods.

~*~

“So tell me again,” Ron took a slow swig of his beer, raising his voice to be heard over the sounds of the Leaky Cauldron’s patrons chattering around them, “why your Auror first-year exam involves being wandless, going into a part of Sweden that sounds like a coughing fit, and then shacking up with Malfoy for a weekend?”

Harry sighed, looking up from his own barely touched pint. “Will you promise to stop enjoying it so much?” 

Ron’s grin widened, freckled cheeks pinching into an elated smile. “Not a chance, mate.”

Harry sagged in his chair, defeated. Ron’s grin turned feral as he finished his beer, then reached over and snagged Harry’s, too. 

“Oh, chin up, Harry. Least this way, if neither of you have your wands, the worst he can do to you is trip you up while you hike.” Ron took another drink of Harry’s beer. “Or push you into a fjord.”

Ron wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, ignoring Harry’s annoyed but admittedly half-arsed glare; Harry probably wasn't going to finish his beer anyway, truth be told, not after the shock of finding out where he was going for his final Reconnaissance, Recovery and… a third R, Harry could never seem to remember. Really Bloody Stupid, he suspected, given the fact that that they were going to be out in the Scandinavian wilderness without their sodding wands. 

This was barmy even for Holford, Harry’s already annoyingly barmy training coordinator ― and Holford had even once suggested that they could resolve a Merpeople hostage situation by dressing up as eels and communicating with them via a series of complicated dance moves. Harry was still baffled by how Holford managed to successfully run that by their superiors, and Draco ― Harry’s perpetual Auror training partner ― was still laughing about the idea of Harry dressed as an eel and dancing the samba while waving seaweed pompoms at an irate Grindylow. At least, Draco would still be laughing with Harry about it if they were talking normally, like they usually did when they inevitably got partnered together for everything. Draco, though, was not currently talking to Harry, or looking him in the eye, or in the mood to joke with him about eels or any other aquatic creatures, musically inclined or otherwise. Draco hadn’t really spoken to Harry since last Saturday, when Harry had somehow managed to take their newfound friendship to a whole new level of friendliness ― and then simultaneously ruin it, in one fell swoop. 

Because Harry was an idiot. 

“That’s Norway,” Harry griped, scratching miserably behind his ear. 

“Ey?”

“You're thinking of Norway, Ron.” Harry sighed. “Sweden doesn’t have fjords.”

“Actually, it does,” Hermione said, as she slipped into the chair next to Harry. “And, hello, sorry I’m late, got stuck chatting with Merrin and you know what that’s like.” She laughed and both Ron and Harry laughed along, despite not having any idea who Merrin was or why escaping her chattiness was so difficult or desirable. “Harry you look awful, have you not been sleeping?” Hermione gave Harry a concerned glance, before kissing Ron gently on the cheek. “And _you_ look drunk,” she added to Ron, pulling back to look at him properly. Ron grinned back happily. 

“Hiya, Herm.”

“Are you sure it’s not just Norway?” Harry asked with a frown. “And what do you mean I look awful?” he added, affronted. 

“Yeah, you look like you could do with some fresh air, Harry,” Ron added. “Get outdoors, maybe with a friend ―”

“God, _Ron_.” Harry ran one hand through his hair. It caught on a tangle and he gave up. 

“You just look a bit tired, that’s all,” Hermione amended, ignoring Ron’s laughter. “Are you sure you’re prepared for this hike?” she inquired, raising her eyebrows skeptically as Harry shrugged. 

“Well, depends.” Harry fiddled with his coaster. “Define ‘prepared.’”

“Define, ‘hike’,” Ron replied, pointing at Harry in solidarity. Harry folded the coaster in half, pensively. 

“And define ‘fjord’,” Harry said. “Because I’m sure it was just Norway ―”

“Body of water, Harry,” said Hermione, with a smile. “It means narrow body of water connected to the sea, and yes, Sweden has them. And if you're going there for three days, without a wand and into terrain you’re not familiar with, I would really have thought that you would have done some research on the area. Especially considering you’ve known about this upcoming expedition for a week.”

“Four days, actually. Not a week,” Harry said, a little defensively. “I’ve only know about this trip for four days, same as any of us, because this kind of first-year training exam has only _existed_ for about four days.” He kicked the toe of his trainer against the leg of the opposite chair. 

“That can’t be right, Harry.” Hermione frowned a little. “They can't just add an Auror exam onto the already existing rota at the last minute.”

“Well, they have.” Harry shrugged. “Trainer Holford’s idea, and it’s as ridiculous as always. I mean, I can understand plonking us in the middle of nowhere for a few days to see how our survival training is going, and I can understand sending us somewhere we’re not familiar with, but ―” 

“But why no magic.” Ron popped a bag of crisps open, loudly, and Harry nodded emphatically then stuck his hand into the offered bag. 

“Exactly! I’m not likely to go out on a real world mission without my wand, am I?” Harry grumpily crunched his crisp. 

“‘Sh’stupid,” Ron agreed heartily around his mouthful. 

“Well, the idea of you going on an expedition wandless is laughable, yes,” Hermione started, the pending _however_ heavy in her voice. “ _However_ ,” ― Harry internally awarded himself some points, and nabbed another of Ron’s crisps too, as Hermione continued ― “I don’t think it’s entirely meritless to train you in wandless survival skills.” She toyed with the slice of blood orange in her vodka and cranberry, poking it with her straw and breaking up the pith. “I mean, if you get Disarmed while out on a mission, or find yourself stranded for a period of time without your wand ―” 

“Then we’re not very good Aurors?” Harry suggested dryly. 

“Then you need to know how to survive until help can arrive,” Hermione finished with a laugh, flicking the liquid at the end of her straw at Harry. “It could be very useful, a positive experience.”

“Yeah, very positive,” Ron added, gleefully. “Out there in the wilderness, in the sunny fields of Sweden, the light glinting off of Malfoy’s poncy hair like the reflection of the sun off of a barrel of freshly churned butter.”

“Jesus, Ron.” Harry rubbed a hand over his slowly flushing cheek. “What have you been watching?”

“You,” he grinned, “turning that pink colour every time I mention the name Mal ― ow! — foy.” Ron rubbed his chin where Harry’s thrown coaster had connected with it. “What’d you do that for?”

“Because you were being a git.”

“ _You’re_ a git.”

“Oh, grow up,” Harry said happily, laughing childishly as he dodged the crisp Ron threw. 

“You grow up.”

“Both grow up.” Hermione made a face at them, but Harry could see it was mostly for show. “You pair of idiots.” She kissed Ron again affectionately, picking up her drink and nodding at the other end of the bar, where Seamus was sitting with an arm around Dean and waving her over with the other. “Right, I’m off to see what they want.” She gestured at Seamus's increasingly enthusiastic waving. “Probably more advice about the wedding, I expect. Honestly, I have no idea why they’re asking me.” She looked away, trying to hide how pleased she was with this fact. To be fair, Harry couldn't quite understand why Seamus and Dean did think Hermione would be good at helping them plan a wedding, but he did enjoy seeing her secretly smile about it whenever it came up. He was also just incredibly glad they weren't asking him ― and Hermione _was_ fabulously organised and as it turned out also incredibly good at bargaining with florists. 

“See you, Herm,” Harry said. “Wish me luck.”

“You’ll be brilliant.” Hermione kissed him on the forehead. “Very interesting place, Sweden. The mythology and magical history is very intricate, very connected to the land.” She smiled. “Try not to spend too much time arguing with _him_ ,” she glanced briefly over at a booth to their left, where a lone occupant was sitting, “to take anything in.”

Harry opened his mouth as if to argue, then abandoned the attempt. “Yeah, will do,” he said with resignation. 

He watched her leave, and watched Ron get up to use the loo. 

Harry waited a moment, trying for self-restraint, then gave up, searching out Draco’s table. 

It was easy enough; Draco was hard to miss, Harry thought, as his eyes settled on Draco’s profile and that familiar white-blond hair. It was was nearly shoulder length these days, and kept neatly enough, although Harry had heard Draco refer to it as more of a nuisance than a particular stylistic choice he was making. Harry'd wondered why Draco didn't just chop it short, if it was ' _more hassle than it's worth, Potter, believe me_ ', but when he'd brought it up Draco had changed the subject so fast Harry'd nearly got whiplash. Draco's hair was long enough now to almost obscure his face as he continued to avidly scribble something on the parchment in front of him. His fingers were stained with dark ink, a half-eaten bowl of chips sitting opposite him and a bottle of vinegar sitting precariously close to the edge. Harry watched as Draco distractedly ate a chip, then licked his thumb. It would be salty, the vinegar tang sharp on it, and Harry licked his lips. He frowned, slightly appalled with himself. He really needed to get a grip. 

He was pretty sure that staring wistfully at someone while they bloody ate chips meant you were completely off your rocker. 

Harry wondered if he should go over and say hello, or offer to buy him a drink. He wasn’t sure if that was wise, given the current status quo between them. At least if he stayed over here, his ability to put his foot in it even further than he already had was significantly limited. 

The decision regarding whether he was getting up or not was abruptly made for him when a sleek white cat rather inelegantly hopped onto his lap, and sat heavily across his thighs. Harry sighed, grimacing down at it.

“Hello, cat,” he said glumly as he waited for Ron to come back. “Don’t suppose you know much about Sweden?” The cat purred as he scratched it behind the ears. “Or hiking?” He twisted his lips, glasses slipping down his nose as he let his gaze wander back to where Draco was now worrying at his thumbnail and still poring over his notes. “Or what to do when you have a really annoying _thing_ for someone you sort of work with, and you did something stupid recently and made everything completely weird,” he mumbled, dejectedly.

The cat turned onto its side, happily digging one soft paw into Harry’s belly. 

“Didn’t think so,” Harry said with resignation. He gave up on being surreptitious and outright stared at Draco, sitting alone in his booth. 

It was a common enough sight, really. Every week, all the Auror trainees came to the Leaky for a Friday night knock off drink, and every Friday Harry ended up sitting with Ron and Hermione instead ― and every Friday, Draco Malfoy sat apart from everyone, studying his seemingly endless revision. They didn't have _that_ much homework, Harry didn't think, but Draco seemed determined to go above and beyond the requirements of the course in order to maintain a perfect grade. Ron liked to joke that perfect grades still weren't going to help his chances of getting into the Specialised Investigative Auror Unit, which was Draco's goal. Harry rather suspected that Ron was actually right ― and that Draco was aware of it, too. It made Harry feel strange, tight in the chest, when he thought of Draco staying up every Friday night studying for something he knew his past would likely prohibit him from ever getting close to. 

It was the same sort of twinge in his chest Harry felt when he thought about how Draco had left the training hall before Harry had a chance to talk to him after duelling practice today, slipping away before Harry could get away from whatever Holford and his assistant wanted to blather on at him about. Harry missed talking with Draco. It had only a been a week of radio silence but Harry hadn’t realised how much he enjoyed Draco’s company. They weren't friends really, not exactly, but they weren't that other thing anymore either. Harry wasn’t sure what to call it, but he liked being partnered with Draco, liked snarking with him during their more boring lectures and seeing Draco’s lips curve into that little smile that indicated he was finding Harry funny, despite trying to hide it. One time, Harry even made Draco laugh, although he did look immediately surprised and annoyed about it afterwards, as if Harry being clever was something of an affront to him. Harry’d embarrassingly lost count of the number of times Draco had made _him_ laugh in return. Which, in essence, was the problem. Because Harry liked Draco. He wanted to hang out with him, and talk to him about ― Harry groaned softly, still miserably petting the purring cat in his lap. 

Harry wanted to talk to him about what had happened last weekend. 

It’d started out well. Saturday night, drinks, a pub neither of them had ever heard of and in which people weren’t likely to recognise them. Harry had been chuffed, thrilled, when Draco agreed to meet him. They’d had far too much fun together, sitting in a Muggle pub in east London, sipping cocktails with ingredients Harry couldn't pronounce but that made his cheeks feel warm, his mind pleasantly fuzzy and dull. The drinks made Draco’s cheeks flush even more, bright spots of deep pink on the high ridges of his cheekbones, barely covered by the long fall of his hair. He had dimples, Harry had noticed that night, when he smiled ― properly _smiled_ ― like he meant it. Draco had dimples and creases at the corners of his eyes, little budding crow's feet that made Harry’s stomach flip, and lips that had almost seemed pale compared to the ruddy colour on Draco’s cheeks. All in all, the effect had been rather nice. Draco’s company had been incredibly nice. Harry must _definitely_ have been completely pissed, because he’d been having a downright brilliant night. 

And then of course, Harry had ruined it by up and kissing him. _Kissing Malfoy_. 

Harry wasn’t entirely sure how it happened. Harry’d sat questioning when Malfoy had gone from “ _pointy, ferrety, horrible git_ ” to “ _pointy, striking, and kind-of-really attractive not-that-git_ ”, as he laughed at Draco taking the piss out of his own incredibly posh accent. One minute his lips had been doing nothing more exciting than sucking on the pointy end of his cocktail umbrella, and the next they had been utterly betraying Harry’s brain and the rest of his face and planting themselves on Draco’s. 

He’d bloody kissed him. 

To say a bit of warning might have been nice was an understatement; given the expression of dumb shock on Draco's face, he'd seemed to agree. His eyes had been wide, his face growing red and then even redder in confusion, then wariness and what looked a lot like embarrassment, or like he'd been caught out. Harry hadn’t been able to make sense of that ― _he_ was the one making a tit of himself, not Draco. Harry hadn’t really had time to think properly about Draco's reaction, though, because he'd panicked and stupidly blurted, “ _Sorry, shit, that was an accident!_ ” in Draco’s face, which was neither accurate nor very flattering to either of them ― and which of course made things infinitely worse. Draco’s expression had turned surly, something Harry couldn't read shifting over his sharp features. His chair had scraped loudly, gratingly, against the stone floor as he made a curt excuse, then promptly left the pub as fast as he could, his boots rapping distinctly against the floor and his posture tense. 

He hadn’t properly spoken to Harry since, not even when he learned he was to be paired with Harry for this stupid camping exercise. Harry wanted to know what he thought about it, if he was dreading it, excited, if he couldn't care less; Harry liked hearing Draco's opinions about these sorts of things. He really hoped Draco wasn't worried Harry might to try a repeat performance of Saturday night.

_Fucking bloody hell._

Harry cringed, then looked back at Ron in guilty surprise when he not-so-gently kicked his shin; Harry hadn’t even noticed him sit back down. 

“Alright there, Harry?” Ron raised one eyebrow, and Harry cleared his throat, shifting in his chair and then stilling when the cat on his lap raised its tail and swatted him in the face with it. Harry glared down at it, hissing at it as it sank its claws into his thigh, and then again as it continued to purr happily. _Bloody sadist_ , he thought. He wasn't sure why this cat always sat on him when he came here ― or why in the name of Merlin’s fluffy knickers Hannah thought it was a good idea for the Leaky to have a pub _cat_ in the first place ― but he vaguely resented being held hostage by a feline. 

“Sorry, what?” he grumbled, pushing the cat’s overenthusiastic tail away from his nose. 

“I was _saying_ ,” Ron started, pointedly. “That it could be worse. The weekend Auror training bollocks, that is,” Ron went on. “S’not like you'll be sharing a tent with him.” His eyes widened. “Oh my god.” Ron lowered his beer to the table as Harry’s face flushed. “You _do_ have to share a tent!”

“Shh, bloody hell,” Harry leant forwards, waving his hand at Ron as if he could wave Ron’s volume down through sheer force of fanned air. It seemed to only make Ron laugh more. Berk. “He’ll hear you!” Harry whispered. 

“No he won’t, what is he, part tiger?” Ron laughed. “And what does he have to say about it all? I assume he’s not thrilled given the way he’s staring at you right now.” 

Harry’s head whipped around, just as Draco quickly looked back down at his parchment. Ron’s face looked like it was going to split in half with the size of his delighted and smug grin. 

“I thought you two were a bit friendly now?” Ron asked, raising one eyebrow. “Why are you suddenly avoiding each other like it’s fifth year again, only with added awkwardness this time?”

“Ye ― no. Nothing’s happened,” Harry lied. “I don't know, we’re not _friends_ friends.” Harry rubbed at his eyebrow, then grabbed his beer back from Ron. He took a generous swig. “We just get partnered a lot,” he mumbled. “That’s all.”

“And you hang out.” 

“I guess, but ―” 

“And you’re gonna share a tent.” 

“Merlin’s _tits,_ Ron, stop going on about the sodding ―.”

“And I swear something has happened because you keep going all _blushy_ and stupid and weird like you did that time that girl gave you her number at the ―” 

“Ron.”

“ ― And then again that time that _fit_ bloke with the nice hair hit on you when you ―” 

“ _Ron_!” 

Harry shut his eyes, hoping to shut out his friend, too. He lifted his glasses slightly, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, then gave up. He looked down at the cat perched in his lap, only to be met with large grey eyes and a look that seemed both fond and simultaneously to suggest the cat didn't think he was very bright. It was unnervingly familiar. Harry took a deep breath. 

“Nothing happened,” he lied. Ron snorted a laugh. 

“Uh huh.” He swung his arm around the back of his chair, clicking his tongue and looking smug. “Well, when you’re ready to admit that’s bollocks, I’m here.” He smiled, and Harry thought he probably meant it. He also thought Ron’s head might explode if he told him that he had absolutely definitely tried to snog Draco in a pub six days ago ― and worst of all, that he was feeling incredibly miserable and rejected considering Draco didn’t even want to talk to him now as a result. Harry supposed now was as good a time as ever to accept that he fancied Draco, but he wasn’t quite ready to hit Ron with that news, even if Ron seemed to be smirking like he already knew what was going on. Mostly, Harry just didn’t want to think about it anymore, or about Draco, because it made his chest and then his groin feel weird ― and _not_ just because there was a cat sitting on his lap, currently using his thigh as a claw pin cushion. 

“Ow!” he hissed. The cat turned adoring eyes up at him ― and sank its claws in deeper. “Can you not?” 

Ron laughed. “She’s kneading bread.” 

“I'm not bread!”

“Means she likes you,” Ron said happily. “Don’t you, Karen?” Harry glared, and not just because Karen was the worst name for a cat he’d ever heard. 

“Yeah well, bit weird to actively try and hurt someone you like in order to show affection, isn't it?” he snarked. 

“Dunno.” Ron's grin turned sly. “You'd know more about that than me.” Before Harry could ask what the ever-loving fuck that was supposed to mean, the cat jumped off his lap with a final painful dig of claws and wandered off to join Draco at his solitary table. 

“Oh look, you've been dumped,” Ron said brightly, as the cat hopped onto Draco's lap. Harry spun his beer on the spot, listened to the faint grinding sound of the glass against the table. He stopped, hands stilling, as Draco ran his fingers along the cat’s arched spine, then looked up. His eyes met Harry’s. 

His entire posture tensed. 

Harry lifted two fingers in a small wave, smiling as much as he could considering his stomach was trying to crawl up his throat. He watched Draco’s face turned pale, and then colour, slow and sure, with a steady flush of blood. He appeared uncomfortable, that odd defensive look creeping into his eyes again, as if Draco was the one who had made an arse of himself in public, when Harry knew for a fact that it was the other way around. He wished Draco would just sit still for ten bloody minutes and _talk_ to him. Harry wondered if maybe now was the right chance. He began to stand, rising up just a little but Draco quickly stood too, the cat tipping off his lap as he gathered his parchment, downed the remainder of his cider and left with a curt nod in Harry’s direction. 

Both Harry and the cat stared after him mournfully. 

Ron looked at Harry with a mixture of confusion, exasperation and, Harry suspected, mild inebriation. “Mate,” Ron began, leaning forwards on his elbows and looking at him seriously. “What the fuck was that?”

Harry opened his mouth, then shrugged as he tried to think of an answer. “Just, he’s probably tired. We have an early start tomorrow. Portkey’s... early,” Harry repeated lamely. 

“Uh huh.” Ron pursed his lips skeptically. “‘Cept usually he comes over here before he leaves, so he can mildly insult the course, the training, this pub and then _you_ for at least fifteen minutes, which you seem to find fabulously entertaining for some reason, and then he swans off looking pleased with himself.” Ron scratched his elbow. “Highlight of your Friday evening I suspect, and his.”

“God.” Harry dropped his head onto his arms, spread over the table as they were. He didn’t realise he was that obvious. 

“Yeah, so why is he now taking one look at you, making a face like a slapped arse and buggering off out the door without even a,” Ron slipped into a low, deep drawl, “‘ _so, Potter, I assume you are woefully unprepared for this expedition as always, and dressed like a scruffy dandelion to boot_ ,’ or whatever he usually says about you.” Ron looked at Harry expectantly. 

Harry made a face and then shrugged. “Just, I don’t know. We’re not... speaking. A bit.” He sat back against the chair miserably. “We’re a bit not speaking.”

“Why?” Ron frowned. “Did something come up about, you know. Well. You Know Who.” Ron’s brows knit further together. “I know you said you two don’t really talk about anything to do with that, but has he done something? _Said_ something?” Ron sat up a little straighter. “Because if he’s being a prick, Harry, then you don’t need to put up with ―”

“No! No, it’s not,” Harry rubbed his jaw; Merlin, he really needed a shave, “it’s nothing like that, he’s not been starting stuff with me.” _Other way around, really_ , Harry didn’t say. Circe’s clattering tits, why did Harry just _kiss_ him like that? 

“Harry ―”

“Don’t,” Harry said plaintively. “Please. It's nothing,” he elaborated, as Ron’s look turned concerned. “Really.” Harry sighed, and Ron nodded, mercifully dropping the subject and letting Harry get away with blatantly fibbing to him. “I should probably head off.” Harry exhaled heavily. “Need to get up at some godforsaken hour to go and get lost in Scandinavia forever, wandless and in a sodding two-man tent.”

“Yeah, all right,” Ron said begrudgingly. 

Harry couldn’t blame him exactly. Ron still had trouble understanding why Harry seemed to enjoy working with Draco, and would willingly hang out with him outside of strictly enforced hours. Harry had trouble explaining that he and Draco had managed to quite successfully, and quite quickly, navigate the minefield of their past without much incident as soon as they’d realised they'd be training together. They never talked about it, not explicitly, but when Harry had offered to give Draco his wand back he’d expected fireworks, perhaps some kind of altercation. He hadn’t expected Draco to say he could keep it, as he had a new one ― and to then suggest maybe they could practice some of their initial training spells together. Harry’d been suspicious, but he was already just about fed up with the rest of the people he was training with; they either expected him to be brilliant, and know everything already, or to not live up to the hype and fall flat on his face. Draco Malfoy, with his straight shoulders and tightly clenched jaw, his wary eyes and slightly too long hair, was somehow a refreshing counterpart to those people. And so, Harry had accepted the practice duel with wonderfully low expectations. 

They’d been practicing together since. 

They’d still yet to talk about anything in their past, though. Harry’d imagined it would come up at some point, but so far it just...hadn’t. When the other Auror trainees made snide remarks, Draco often didn’t react, except to make equally snide jokes back that either confused or took them off guard enough for Draco to change the subject. When they’d talked about resurgent Death Eater groups in lectures, and half the class would look at Draco, he’d sit a little straighter, raise one brow and say not to ask him as he ‘ _didn’t get invited to those sorts of parties anymore_ ’. When Jennings, a particularly tall and outspoken young man, had asked who Draco had blown to even get into the Auror program in the first place, he’d been gobsmacked that Draco’s response was to sit back in his chair, widen his legs and suggest it was not who he’d blown, but who he was still blowing. 

Harry only understood now why the fact that everyone thought Draco was referring to having sex with Harry made him blush like a ripe tomato. He knew Draco only did it to distract people from what they were actually interested in, which was, specifically, his family and his involvement in the war and the events of the Battle of Hogwarts. It was a curious kind of antagonising deflection that Draco employed to avoid having to talk about his past, but it seemed to work. He’d acknowledge who he was, what he was known for, whilst simultaneously managing to both rise to the bait and ignore it entirely. It was a fabulous method of diffusing possibly volatile situations, and Harry at first reluctantly, and now openly, admired it. So far, it had a 100% success rate.

Really, Draco was going to make a bloody good Auror. 

Harry sighed, standing up and giving the cat one last pat as it prowled along the bench, looking for its next lap to sit on. “Say bye to Hermione for me, yeah?” He ran his hands along the cat's tail, then smiled back at Ron. “I’m gonna try and sneak out before I accidentally let slip to her than I don’t actually know anything about Sweden.” 

Ron barked a laugh. “Good plan. Use your budding Auror skills, and stealthily bugger off out the side door, I reckon.”

“Right.” Harry sighed. “Well, wish me luck. Three nights and four days without a wand.” He grimaced. He couldn't remember the last time he’d gone four minutes without his wand at hand’s reach, let alone an entire day. He already felt vulnerable, dulled somehow, by the prospect of surrendering it to Holford when they met him in the morning. 

Ron clapped a broad palm on Harry’s shoulder, eyes crinkling as he smiled down at him from his slight height advantage. “It’s gonna be total shit,” he agreed, laughing at Harry’s unimpressed look. “But look on the bright side.” Ron grinned, stepping back slightly and heading towards Dean, Seamus and Hermione while Harry moved towards the exit. “At least Malfoy won’t have his wand either.”

Harry groaned as he walked towards the door.

~*~

Number twelve Grimmauld Place was warded to the teeth, but Harry still preferred to use an old fashioned Charmed house key as an extra precaution. That being said, it still took three tries before he managed to get the key into his front door in order to open the stupid thing.

It took two seconds once he was inside for him to trip over the overexcited ferret that was bouncing around his feet.

“Bloody fucking ―” Harry laughed as he gripped the table beside the door to steady himself, almost upending the bowl where Harry kept his keys, spare change, and an assortment of buttons that had fallen off his clothes. “Calm down, Margot!” 

The ferret squeaked, skittering around the room jubilantly and chattering at Harry before animatedly climbing up the back of the sofa. Harry picked her up, let her run up to his neck. He sighed as she nibbled at his ear. 

“How are you going to cope without me for four days, huh?” he asked her fondly, walking into his living room, and then towards the bedroom stairs. He was knackered, he thought. Margot sniffed his hand as he petted her sleek, black head. “You’ll drive Neville to despair when he comes to house sit.” 

Harry toed his trainers off, wobbling a little on the spot before he began to ascend the stairs. He thought he ought to perhaps get Neville a gift from Sweden for looking after his manic pet, but then again, he knew Neville adored her almost as much as Harry did. She was annoying, and ran around the house like a small, furry hurricane, and yet somehow managed to endear herself to most people she met. Harry’s training required him to work rather long hours, and so Ginny, Neville and Luna liked to come and keep Margot company and play with her, which suited her overly sociable nature. She was more of a communal pet than anything else, by now. Even Draco liked her, the one time he’d come around after a long day stuck on a simulated surveillance mission. He’d also asked if she went to the same hair stylist as Harry, given she had an odd, messy tuft of fur on the back of her head. Harry smiled wryly to himself at the memory, as Margot began animatedly sniffing the front of his shirt.

“I smell like cat, don’t I?” Harry lifted her off his shoulder, dropped her onto the bed. She rolled, three times, rucking up the sheets before diving off the end of the bed and into her small furred hutch. She turned around inside several times, before poking her head out and staring at Harry. He nodded, then rested his hands on his hips. 

“Eight points for the barrel roll. Your form was slightly off with the run up, but for the dismount.” He looked at her seriously over the rim of his glasses. “A perfect ten.”

Margot squeaked, turning around until only her tail was visible. Harry made a contemplative face. “Yeah, you’re right. I do need a life.” 

Harry took a deep breath, then flopped onto his back, careful to avoid the small piles of hiking gear and provisions he’d laid on it but had yet to pack into his rucksack. He sighed, loudly. 

“Sweden,” he said to his ceiling. He pursed his lips, rubbing at the bridge of his nose and wondering what time he needed to set his alarm in the morning. “With no wand,” he mumbled, not wanting to add ‘ _and a companion who won’t talk to me_ ’. 

Harry sighed again, heavily, feeling stupid and not a little bit rejected. That was silly, he knew, because it was his fault Draco wasn’t inclined to chat with him at the moment. There’d been a friendship blossoming there, and Harry had stuffed it up, due in part to a little too much alcohol and his own amazingly limited relationship experience. Limited meaning nonexistent; dating Ginny before eighth year hardly counted, considering all they’d done was kiss a bit and then break up, and Harry hadn’t really done more with anyone else since. He’d never really been bothered about the fact he was nearly twenty and still hadn’t had sex; he figured it would happen when it happened. He'd been interested in people, once or twice, but nothing had really come of it and he’d not been that fussed, really. All of which was a stark contrast to the degree which Harry was interested in Draco. Harry pulled at his lower lip with his teeth, pushing his t-shirt up slightly and scratching low on his belly. He was worryingly interested in Draco, in a way he wasn’t used to being, and wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with. Which, presumably, had led to his impulsive disaster of a kiss, which Draco had evidently not been thrilled with. 

Harry sighed, pulling his t-shirt down and smoothing one hand over his stomach. He was an idiot; he didn’t want to have ruined things between them. He kicked one leg against the leg of the bed, but then stopped when he heard a tap at the window. He tilted his head, frowning upside down at the owl now outside his room. 

“Oh.” Harry awkwardly got up again, crawling across the length of the bed and opening the latch of the window. “Bit late for post, isn’t it?” 

The barn owl hooted at him sombrely, landing on top of Harry’s dresser. It raised one foot, a medium sized package attached to it. Harry untied it, frowning as he fed the owl a treat. “You’re familiar,” he said to the bird, who looked back as it glumly swallowed the treat Harry had offered. “Sorry you’re out working so late,” he muttered, as the owl flapped its large wings and left through the open window. 

Harry stared after it, gently chewing on his lip ― before he looked down and saw that Margot was also not-so-gently chewing on the package. 

“Oi,” he said, pulling it away. He quickly untied the string and gave it to her to play with; she dragged it to back into her hutch with covetous delight. Harry let the brown paper wrapping fall away as he sat down on the bed, in between the pile of clothes and his large rucksack. 

He stared down at the book in his hands, and the little handwritten note accompanying it. 

“ _Potter,_

_I hope you’re not just starting to pack now._

_D.M._ ”

Harry blinked in surprise as he turned the book around to read the title. _Hiking The Kungsleden: An Adventurer’s Guide, second edition_. Harry opened his mouth, frowning in slight disbelief as he ran a finger over the title, letting the pages slip open. He started as something fell out of them. Harry leaned down to pick it up off the floor. 

It was a parchment, Harry saw, the handwriting on it familiar in its elegant script. He scanned the lists, smiling faintly as he realised what it was; an itinerary, of sorts, of things Harry might need to know, or pack. A few spells that would come in handy to use on his equipment before they left, as well as marked page numbers corresponding to the sections of the guidebook that would be relevant for their path.

 _“We’re not following the entire trail ― heading off at the Tjäktja pass, towards the mountains and the final destination point in the Tjäktja Valley,_ ” Draco’s handwriting told him as Harry scanned down the parchment. “ _I’ve a two-man tent, reinforced against the worst of the weather, which will fit us both comfortably. I’ve listed three spells to use on your hiking boots, and equipment, to keep you dry if the weather decides to fall on us._ ” Harry grinned as he saw they were the same ones he’d already used. “ _If Holford says that’s cheating he can kiss the arse of my magically reinforced hiking trousers, before shoving this ridiculous examination up his._ ”

Harry snorted a laugh, then swallowed, trying to arrange his face into something more sensible and less obviously relieved at Draco’s notes. He scanned the rest, running his finger down to the bottom of the parchment page. 

“ _We can talk together tomorrow about the rest of the particulars. Coffee’s on me ― I know you’ll need at least a pint of it before you’re able to function, given the early hour of our scheduled meeting._

 _See you in the morning_.” 

Harry chewed his lip, his smile slipping down a notch and simultaneously kicking something off inside his chest. He could see a darker smear of something on the corner, making the parchment damp. He ran his finger over it, then huffed a laugh ― vinegar, he realised. Vinegar and ink, like he’d seen on Draco’s hands before he’d left The Leaky Cauldron. Harry laughed again, a loud gust. This is what he’d been working on, in the pub, while Harry drank and attempted to covertly stare at him. A list of things Harry might need, a guidebook full of paths and information. Harry already had one, had pored over the relevant sections in an attempt to be as prepared as he could be, but he knew that wasn’t what this was really about. Sending a book and an itinerary, a list of helpful spells and notes about Scandinavian magical sites ― this was Draco’s way of opening up contact, of acknowledging that he’d been stymieing Harry’s attempts to talk to him, and that he wouldn't do that anymore. 

_We can talk together tomorrow._

Harry sighed, crawling backwards up the bed and resting against the headboard. He rubbed at his cheek, aware he was flushing red, and that he couldn't quite stop smiling. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, under his glasses, then scrubbed a hand through his hair before carefully folding the parchment in half. He crossed one leg over the other, then opened the book to the first page Draco had marked for him, smiling as he felt Margot race along the side of the mattress, jump over his rucksack, and then sit on his shoulders, draping herself along the back of his neck. Harry hummed as Margot got settled. 

“Might not be so bad in Lapland, after all,” he mumbled. Harry rubbed at the top of her head with two fingers, her tail curved around his neck. “Think Draco might not hate me.”

Margot squeaked, curling tighter around Harry’s neck. Harry laughed.

“Thought you wanted me to see other people,” he said, as he eyed the rest of his half-finished packing, and then the clock; it was half past nine, and he had a bit of time before he needed to be asleep. He ran one finger down the spine of the guidebook, saw the gentle creases suggesting it had been opened and reopened several times. He brought his finger up to his mouth, ran one along his lower lip. He imagined he could taste vinegar there, as he ran his finger back and forth, before moving it up to his cheek. 

He settled back against the pillows then began to read.

~*~

The rendezvous was at 7:00am sharp.

“Too fucking early,” Harry grumbled, as he stepped into the clearing behind their scheduled Portkey point at 6:30. He felt half asleep still, the autumn sun appearing to agree with him as it struggled to clear the copse of trees to his left. Half-risen, and yet still in his bloody eyes, Harry thought unhappily as he raised one hand to shield the bulk of the sun’s glare from his vision. He could see a figure standing near the edge of the woods, tall and striking as their black clothes clashed against the bright grass. Harry slowed as he neared them, and recognised the pale hair, the thick strands now pulled back into a low and mostly tidy bun. 

Draco turned to face him as Harry finally reached the edge of the woods. 

“Hey,” Harry said, somewhat awkwardly. He gestured at Draco’s hair. “This is a new look.” He let his hand fall on his side, listened as it banged against the noisy material of his waterproof hiking trousers. 

He scrunched his fist against it, breathing shallowly as he waited to see what kind of reception he was about to receive. The cold shoulder still, or Draco tearing his head off for the violation of his person and his friendship? Harry couldn't decide which one he felt would be worse. He fiddled with the straps of his rucksack, hiked it higher on his shoulder as he watched Draco’s profile, the sun highlighting his hair as he slowly turned to face Harry. 

Draco tilted his head, sucking his cheeks in slightly as he folded his arms and regarded Harry. His black, long-sleeved top was pulled up to reveal his wrists, his rucksack resting against the base of a tree. His dark hiking boots came up past his ankles, lightweight trousers tucked into them. Harry had never seen Draco dressed in anything quite so Muggle, never seen him look so casual and yet still so done up. He swallowed as Draco cocked his hip, looking Harry up and down. 

“Well, I would like to say that disheveled and having only just rolled out of bed is a new look for you, too, Potter,” Draco drawled, looking up at Harry through a long fall of hair that had come out of his bun. “But I can’t really tell the difference between this and how you usually appear.”

Harry huffed a relieved laugh, shifting his weight from foot to foot then letting his overly heavy bag drop down to his shoulders. “Piss off,” he replied, unclipping the bag-straps from around his waist so it could fall to the ground. “It’s early.”

“It’s a perfectly reasonable hour,” Draco replied as Harry stood next to him, back to the sun. “The early bird gets the worm, as they say.”

“I am neither bird nor worm.” Harry cricked his neck, to cover the stupid smile rapidly spreading across his face. It was ridiculous, but Harry felt incredibly relieved at just the sound of Draco’s terse voice, of his well-enunciated and polished tone. He’d missed it. It was pathetic. Harry gave in and smiled anyway, looking at Draco sideways. “I’d’ve preferred a lie-in,” he muttered, watching Draco. 

Draco laughed, once, loud and dry. The sound echoed faintly through the clearing. “I know you would.” He pulled out his wand, slim and dark, as he Levitated the medium-sized coffee cup off of the ground, then towards Harry. “Caffeinate yourself, please.”

“Thanks.” Harry took the offered cup, then a sip. He licked his lip, humming as he found the coffee still charmed pleasantly warm as it hit his tongue. Warm, yes, but something was off. Harry wrinkled his nose. 

“You forgot the sugar,” he said, staring at the lid of his cup. 

“I forgot nothing,” Draco replied, a half smile lingering on his lips. 

Harry took another sip, grimacing. “I always have sugar.” He shook his head, looking at Draco accusingly. “You know that.”

“Correct.” Draco tucked the long strand of hair behind his ear, looking pleased with himself. “You always put an inordinately large amount of sugar in your coffee.” 

“Three sugars is not an inordinate ―” 

“ ― That doesn't mean, however, that I have to participate in this when I am responsible for procuring your beverages.” Draco turned to Harry, outright smiling now. 

Harry huffed in exasperation. “Coffee tastes awful without sugar.”

“No, it just tastes like coffee.”

“Yeah, which is awful.” Harry stared glumly at his cup, while Draco laughed, then fished something out of his pocket. He threw the three sugar sachets at Harry, who caught them haphazardly against his chest. Harry grinned, kneeling down to pry off his coffee lid.

“Appalling,” Draco said, resting his boot back against the tree as he watched Harry stir the sugar in. Harry turned to him, the sun in his eyes. 

“What’ve you got against sugar?” he asked, squinting up at Draco’s chin. 

“Nothing.” Draco sniffed. “Just don’t want a partner who’ll be dead of a cardiac arrest by forty.”

Harry stood with crick of knees, and a laugh. “I’m touched,” he said quietly, taking a deep mouthful and sighing at the sugary hit. “But if we’re still in training when I’m forty, then there’re bigger problems afoot than my empty calorie intake.”

Draco inhaled deeply, rubbing at his neck. “Well, we might be, at this rate,” he complained. “If they keep sending us out on training exercises like this.”

Harry hummed, then leant against the tree. “Yeah.” He took another drink, then drained the cup, feeling more awake already. He wasn’t sure if it was because the caffeine was kicking in, or if it was just a habitual response. Have coffee, nark with Draco, feel better about the morning; that was how Harry was used to starting his day. “Holford’s outdone himself on this one.”

“I cannot understand how he got it past Kingsley.” Draco kicked the heel of his boot back against the dark bark of the tree. “Or Robards. Four days, in the middle of nowhere, with no wands, and outside of usual Auror jurisdiction.” Harry nodded along as Draco irately listed the items off on his fingers. “As well as unable to Apparate should we encounter an issue, because we don’t have our ―”

“Your wands!” a bright voice answered, two figures stepping out from behind a tree and startling them both. Draco straightened, but didn’t look remotely chastised about having been caught moaning about the course in front of the assigning trainer; Draco had an even lower opinion of Holford and his methods than Harry did, and had never bothered to hide it. “ _No one listens to me anyway_ ,” he’d told Harry when he’d brought this up. “ _I’m the blind spot of the entire Auror academy. I can complain all I like, and the trainers pretend my voice is a light breeze. It’s liberating and infuriating in equal measures.”_

“Good morning, gentlemen!” Holford said happily, his companion bowing slightly at them in what Harry thought was a particularly strange move. He was an attractive man, tall and well-built, in contrast to Holford who was short of stature, and slim with quick reflexes. They both looked at Harry, Holford grinning widely and his companion smiling politely. They made an extremely mismatched pair, Harry thought, as both he and Draco struggled their rucksacks back on and stood to attention. 

“And what a morning it is!” Holford went on, hands on his hips. Harry shifted slightly under their combined gaze. 

“Yes,” Harry said, looking down at his coffee cup. “It is definitely a morning, sir.” He squashed the cup slightly, watched it fold as he tried to avoid looking at Draco; he knew he’d burst into laughter if he did, knew that Draco would be rolling his eyes as he always did when Holford favoured Harry with his odd and aggressively friendly demeanour. Harry was used to being singled out by those above him, but it didn't make it any less unpleasant. Draco liked to joke that was what they had in common; Harry, fixated on by others when he didn't want it, and Draco, now a complete pariah in all factions of wizarding society. “ _We’re a pair of sore thumbs_ ,” he’d said once, over tea. “ _We stick out_.” 

Harry bloody hated it. Right now, his face hurt from pretending to smile. 

“Are we ready for our trip then?” Holford said brightly. 

“Our? Are you and your friend coming with us, sir?” Draco asked tightly. Harry saw Holford’s jaw clench slightly. 

“No, it’s a turn of phrase,” Holford said, eyes never leaving Harry’s. “And my friend!” He clapped his hands together. “Of course, let me introduce you. This is our bonding specialist, Mr Per Boddason.” Holford stepped back, allowing the other man to come forwards. “Per, this is Harry, and Draco.”

“Thank you, Crispin. Pleased to meet you,” Per smiled, shaking Harry's hand and then Draco’s. Harry smiled back, confused until he realised that Crispin was Auror Trainer Holford's first name. He’d momentarily forgotten his name wasn’t simply Holford, the way he’d spent the first two years at Hogwarts unaware Snape was a surname. “It's an honour to be able to assist you with this training exercise,” Per continued. He was softly spoken, with the hint of an accent, and Harry found he didn't have to pretend to smile so much around him. He was just trying to place Per’s accent ― was it Dutch? German? ― when Harry scowled. 

“Sorry, hang on, you said you were a ―”

“Bonding specialist,” Draco finished for Harry, brow furrowed into a deep frown. “What does that refer to?”

“Yeah.” Harry pulled his wand out, shrank his empty cup and then slipped it into the pocket of his rucksack. “There was no bond mentioned when this was outlined for us.” 

“No.” Draco stared at Per intently, grey eyes trained on hazel, but Per only shook his head, still smiling faintly. 

“Oh, it is just a precaution,” Per said, waving a hand. “A last minute addition, if you will. For safety.”

“Yes, very last minute,” Holford said tightly. “Comes from up above.” He waved his hands at the sky, grinning almost manically, then pressed his fingers together. “Apparently,” he finished through almost gritted teeth. 

“Now now, Crispin.” Per nudged his shoulder against Holford’s. “It is a dangerous mission for your training staff. All measures must be taken to ensure safety. You support this I'm sure, as this entire initiative is your doing.” He flicked an amused glance at Harry and Draco, and Harry found himself warming to him even further. Anyone who seemed to think this training mission was stupid was okay in Harry’s book, and apparently some of those higher up in the programming also felt that Holford’s idea had holes in it. 

“Of course I support it,” Holford ground out. “Last minute changes of plan are always welcome.”

“Excellent.” Per looked at Crispin. “So good to know we are all on the same page.” He folded his hands in front of him. “Now, if you please. We've got all the other teams off, bonded and Portkeyed to their destinations, with nothing to worry about.” Per’s voice was soft, calming, as he looked from Harry to Draco. 

“Destinations?” Draco’s voice was hard. “The other teams aren’t going where we’re going?”

“Oh no.” Holford bounced on his heels, excited or agitated, Harry couldn’t tell. He’d always been an energetic man, but Harry had never seen him quite like this. “No, they’ve all been sent to various locations, in order to promote authenticity regarding the nature of the skills being assessed here. Can’t have you all bumping into each other, can we?” He laughed, loudly, then swallowed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “Right, and speaking of which, we should get a move on, I should say!” He laughed again. “Portkey’s almost ready to go.” He pointed toward a small discarded bottle cap by the base of the tree standing behind Harry. 

Harry shifted away from it uncomfortably. “And this bond?” he said cautiously. “I’m sorry, I don't understand why we need it.” 

“Or the point of it,” Draco added, saying what Harry was trying to be too polite to. “Not to mention the issue of informed consent, which, correct me if I'm wrong,” Draco continued in a tone which suggested he was aware he was not only right but he’d have the throat of anyone who actually did dare to correct him, “but you cannot enforce any bond on participants without it.” 

“Entirely correct,” Per’s smile didn't waver, even under the full brunt of Draco’s cold stare. “Of course you must consent to the process.” There it was again, that twinge of an accent. Harry focussed once more on trying to place it, and not on the churning feeling in his stomach at the idea of a bond. He didn't know much about them, but he didn't like the idea of being under one. In one? He blinked, listening instead to the oddly rounded vowels as Per spoke and not on the semantics of bonding processes. 

“And of course, you can withhold consent. In which case,” Per tilted his head, almost catlike, “the training exercise will be cancelled, and you will forfeit the examination.” 

Harry’s brows lifted up, slowly, in disbelief. “What, so we can’t say no?”

“Of course you can.” Per swatted at a small fly, near his shoulder. “It will just cancel your eligibility to participate in the examination ―”

“And we’ll fail it,” Draco finished for him.

Per nodded, happily. “Oh, yes.” 

Draco scoffed derisively. “That’s quite a liberal interpretation of consent.”

“And yet, not an incorrect one,” replied Per, looking at Draco with renewed interest. “But very astute of you to notice.” Harry looked between them, feeling distinctly uneasy now. It was clear that they were going to have to consent to this bond regardless of whether they wanted to or not, given it was this or fail the examination, and the entire year’s worth of training in the process. Draco looked like it was taking all of his willpower not to argue with Per further. Holford looked like he was about to burst from excitement. 

Per simply looked politely amused and engaged in the conversation. 

“The bond is quite low-key,” Per went on, “and the process is quick.” Per pulled out his wand. “And very non-invasive. You won’t even know it’s there, not really. This kind of Locative Bond will require you to remain in close proximity to each other, in case anything should happen to one of you. It’s a precaution only,” he said, sympathetically. “In case one of you gets lost, separated from the other, it will alert you to their status regarding their safety should something happen, as well as their location. You will be able to easily find each other, given the magical tie of the bond, but as I say, it’s just a precaution,” he repeated. “Given you’ll be away from usual methods of search and rescue, should something go awry, your superiors felt this was necessary.”

“Yes, along with these,” Holford handed each of them a small, black disk, no bigger than their palm. “In case you find yourselves in any serious danger, compress this,” he pointed to a mauve centre in each disk as he placed them in Harry and Draco’s extended hands, “and you will be collected.” He folded his hands in front of him. “Of course, it will void the entire examination, so,” he laughed, almost goofily, “try and make sure the situation is suitably dire before you call for assistance.”

“Right.” Harry looked at the disk, then slipped it into his pocket. He ran his thumb around the edge of it before pulling his hand away. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re so very _welcome_ , Harry,” Holford said emphatically, staring at Harry. Harry suddenly became aware of the fact that Holford hadn't looked at Draco once, had kept his eyes trained on Harry. He wasn’t sure if this was normal behaviour; he was sure Holford could have no reason not to make eye contact with Draco normally, but then again, Harry had never really paid attention to that sort of thing. Perhaps this was Holford’s normal demeanour when it came to interacting with Draco. Draco certainly didn’t seem surprised by it. 

“So now!” Holford exclaimed, slightly too loudly. “Only two things remain. Your wands, and your bonds.”

Harry groaned internally; there was the Holford he knew. He risked a glance at Draco, saw him staring back with an equally unimpressed expression on his face. 

“Perhaps your wands first,” Holford said with relish. He extended his hands, wiggling his fingers.  
Harry grimaced. 

He’d been dreading this, and by the look on Draco’s face it was going to be easily as hard, if not harder, to surrender his wand. Harry couldn't remember the last time he’d been without his wand, couldn’t imagine spending four days without it. It was as much a part of him as magic itself was, he thought, as he ran his fingers along the wood, felt the hum and rattle of the power within it and within himself. 

He looked up as Holford cleared his throat. “Chop chop.” Holford wiggled his fingers again, impatiently. 

With a sigh, Harry and Draco turned the casting ends of their wands to face themselves, then reluctantly handed them over. 

“Brilliant!” Holford slipped them both into his trouser pockets, one on each side. Harry felt slightly sick, his hand suddenly empty. Beside him, Draco’s face looked pinched and drawn. 

“Don’t worry,” Holford patted both pockets. “I’ll take good care of them. Have them ready and waiting for you at the rendezvous point on Monday.” He smiled, pleased with himself, and them, and seemingly everything. Harry tried not to recoil at the sight. “And now, Per, over to you.”

“Of course. Your hands, if you please,” Per asked, pulling out his own wand and holding it against the palm of his free hand. 

“I really would have preferred to have been made aware of this before now,” Draco said tightly, his voice still tinged with mistrust. 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed.

Per nodded. “I completely understand.” 

Harry waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't, simply stood before them, smiling patiently and benevolently. Harry sighed, and extended his hand. Impulsively, he pulled it back again, closing his fist. 

“How long does it last for?” he asked, watching Per intently. “This bond. Will it wear off, or...” Harry trailed off, brows raised. He didn’t know much about bonds, Locative or otherwise, and he didn’t like the idea of magic of this calibre ― magic of any calibre he didn’t understand or have time to familiarise himself with ― being foisted on him. It was making his skin prickle a little. 

Beside him, Harry heard Draco hum appreciatively, equally interested in the answer. 

“A fine question,” Per replied, nodding. “And no, it will not wear off.” He raised his hand as Harry scowled, opening his mouth to argue. “But it can be removed,” he explained quickly, “and will be, once you reach your destination point on Monday.”

“Which is why it is imperative you arrive there,” Holford interjected, “and arrive on time, for your scheduled assessment point in this Cha Cha valley.” 

“Tjatjka,” Per corrected softly. Holford waved a hand dismissively. 

“Yes, that’s what I said.” He exhaled happily, letting his shoulders relax. “Which I’m sure you will have no trouble reaching on time. And now, if you please. Per is a very skilled wizard.” He gestured at his friend, and Harry reluctantly extended his fingers once more, tips pointing towards Per. 

“Yours too, Draco,” Per said softly. When Draco didn’t move, Harry nudged his shoulder against his. Draco sighed. Slowly, scowling heavily, Draco raised his hands next to Harry’s. 

They watched as Per muttered a series of complex words in a language Harry didn’t recognise, tapping his wand on one hand, and then the other. Tendrils of pale, yellow magic curled around their wrists before slipping over their skin and falling away to the ground. The threads of magic seemed to hang there, in front of their feet, before dissolving into the grass, and then into the soil beneath. Harry stared at their hands, at the pale jut of Draco’s wrist bone, his knuckles, down to his long fingers. Harry flexed his own, lips pursed thoughtfully. 

“I feel nothing,” he stated bluntly. 

“No, nor I,” Draco agreed, looking at Per. “Should we be able to tell it’s there?” 

“Only if something goes wrong, and you are hurt,” Per explained softly, a tinge of humour in his voice. “Or you wander more than thirty metres away from each other. Then you will feel it. Otherwise, as I have told you, it is very non-invasive.” 

Harry turned to look at Draco, aware of a slight and persistent hum. It felt like a soft vibration at the base of his neck, a steady _thrum_ that he could catch if he concentrated very hard, if he tried to block out the sounds of the woods waking up. The sound was rhythmic, echoing faintly in his ears in an almost comforting beat. Harry slowly began to smile as he realised what it was he could hear. 

“What?” Draco asked suspiciously, looking at Harry.

“I think I can… feel your heartbeat, actually,” Harry said softly, closing his eyes. “If I concentrate really hard.” He listened for that thump and pulse again, finding it without much difficulty. He opened his eyes to find Draco looking at him, his expression strange. 

“That’s wonderful, Mr Potter,” Per said as he sheathed his own wand. “You’re very magically intuned. Most would not be able to feel even that. Heartlines,” Per said, still smiling that quiet smile. “In your wrists, your chest, your pulse point.” He tapped the side of his neck, then the soft inside of his wrist; Harry looked down at his own. “There’s magic in the beat of a wizard’s heart. That’s where this bond thrives. It connects one heartline to another, one wizard to another, and as such you are privy to the other’s well-being.” Per lifted one shoulder, then let it drop again in a smooth movement. “Usually it is entirely surreptitious, but some can tell that it’s there. A special few.”

He looked at Harry intently, and Harry found he couldn’t quite read his expression. Either way, he didn’t enjoy the scrutiny, or being referred to as special. He glanced away when he heard Draco make a soft sound. 

“Potter,” Draco said quietly, gently, his eyes crinkling as he tried not to smile. “Kindly stop eavesdropping on my heartlines, if you please.”

Harry smiled back, lopsidedly. “Stop them from being so loud, then,” he replied, even as the steady rhythm of Draco’s heart grew further away. He grinned even wider when Draco laughed, surprised and quiet. Harry returned his gaze to Per and Holford, to find them regarding them intently. 

“It's so nice that you two get on,” Per said peculiarly, his smile in place still. “It will make this entire experience so much more enjoyable.” 

Harry frowned, but before he could reply Per raised his wand, Levitating the Portkey. 

“Now, gentlemen,” Per announced, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Catch!” he whispered, letting the bottle cap drop with a flick of his wand. 

Harry and Draco started, caught off balance. Their fingers met as they both reached for the small Portkey with Seeker’s reflexes. 

Harry felt both Per and Holford’s eyes still avidly on him, before his body lurched, the Portkey jerking them forwards.

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Harry noticed, as his feet hit the ground with a lurch and a wobble, was that Sweden was colder than England by several degrees. 

The second thing he noticed was his head colliding with Draco’s as he stumbled forwards. 

“Ow!” 

“Shit, steady on!” Draco winced, holding one hand to his ear. “Merlin, what's that bloody _ringing_ noi― oh.” Draco groaned, annoyed. “Bond,” he said dryly. 

“Huh?” Harry asked, rubbing at his forehead. He suspected he had a bruise forming. 

“Bond.” Draco gestured at Harry’s head. “You hurt yourself. The bond let me know.” He laughed humourlessly. “What a farce.” 

“Hurt myself? Bloody hell, I just banged my head,” Harry said, in disbelief at the bond being so sensitive. 

“Yeah, _on_ me.” Draco shook his head. “Try not to stub your toe on anything. I assume this bond will have a complete fit if you so much as cut your face shaving.” 

Harry blinked, still rubbing at the sore spot on his head. He looked around at the area they’d landed in; long open plains, the greying sky, and the soft breeze. There were large expanses of soft grass, and rocky clusters leading up to the peak of the mountains ahead of them. There were more trees than Harry’d expected, even though they were scarce; he’d been expecting none, but he could see them scattered across the plains, interspersed with the large and then slightly smaller rocks. Every now and again he could make out the dark shapes of birds, crows perhaps, or more likely ravens given where they were, as they circled in the cloudy sky. The path of the Kungsleden trail lead directly to the mountain ahead of them, leading into the slightly snow-covered peaks. 

It was beautiful, unlike anything Harry’d seen before. He was thankful there was no one else around, not just because it covered their Portkey point; he found he didn’t want to share this view with anyone else, other than the present company he had. Harry breathed in the sharp, fresh air as he watched a raven fly nearer, circling above their heads. 

He sighed, reluctantly dragging his eyes away from the stunning sight of the mountains. He worried at his lip with his teeth. 

“I don’t like this bond,” he mumbled, adjusting his rucksack on his shoulders. “I don't like that they didn’t tell us about it beforehand.”

“No.” Draco’s expression tightened as he squinted up at the snowy peaks. “Or that the bonding specialist they sent us so conveniently happened to be Swedish.”

Harry frowned. “Was he?”

Draco hummed, nodding. “It was faint, but my money’s on that being where his accent was from. Which is a bloody coincidence, wouldn't you say?” Draco sniffed, staring out at the expanse of land to their left. 

Harry’s scowl deepened; he had a deep mistrust of coincidences. Judging from Draco’s face, Harry suspected he agreed.

“Did he seem weird to you?” Harry queried, watching Draco’s profile. 

“Do you mean Holford, or the unexpected specialist?” Draco asked in reply. He shook his hair away from his face, pulling away a strand that had blown stuck to his lip. “Because either way the answer is yes.”

“Yeah. I’ve never seen Holford so... twitchy before.” Harry watched as Draco tucked his hair behind his ear, only for the wind to blow it in front of his face again. “And Per knew our last names,” Harry said. “We were introduced as only Harry and Draco, but he knew who we were.”

“Well.” Draco pulled his rucksack from his shoulders, dropping it heavily onto the ground. “I expect most people know who you are,” Draco said, pulling a folded map out of his bag. He smiled wryly up at Harry. “You’re on a bloody chocolate frog card, for Merlin’s sake.”

Harry snorted. “I am not,” he said, hoping with all his being that Draco was teasing him. “I’m not,” he repeated insistently as Draco raised one brow at him. 

“Yes, you are, and I’ll thank you to stop being on the cards inside the frogs I select to eat.” Draco sniffed. “It’s very off-putting.” 

“Jesus.” Harry stared back at the ravens, to cover his blush. He looked sideways back at Draco as Draco stood up again, holding the map in front of him. It was Muggle, as were Draco’s clothes, his rucksack, and the tent which was neatly rolled up and attached to the top of it. 

“When did you buy all this gear?” Harry laughed softly as he looked down at it, the wind whipping his hair a little. “I mean, it's Muggle camping gear.”

“Yes, well.” Draco straightened, holding the map of the Kungsleden and the surrounding area open before him. “That’s the true triumph of this mission.” His eyes scanned the map as he spoke. “I should receive full marks based solely on the fact that I successfully navigated not only a Muggle store, but conversation with the salesperson about the various camping paraphernalia I would need for this, and then purchased it with that infuriatingly nonsensical Muggle currency.”

“You used Muggle money?” Harry’s brows lifted, impressed. Draco looked at him as if he was stupid. 

“Of course I did. Not likely to let me buy a pair of hiking boots with a handful of Knuts, are they?” Draco folded the map, apparently satisfied with what he’d seen. “And I gather I only made a mild tit of myself trying to figure out how to pay.”

Harry shrugged, then shook his head. “No, I don’t think Cotswold let you pay with Sickles. You could have asked me to come with you, though,” Harry said. “As your Muggle translator,” he added, with a slight smile. He felt it slip off his face when Draco looked away, his expression awkward. Harry frowned as he tried to think of what he’d said that could cause that response, when it hit him. He felt his face heat in suddenly remembered embarrassment. 

“Oh right.” He looked down at his shoes, then at a rock by his foot. “That was... You went this week.” _When you weren’t talking to me_ , he added introspectively. 

“Yes,” Draco replied, bluntly. Harry had long become familiar over the past year with the fact that Draco dealt with awkwardness or embarrassment by becoming more direct in his tone, and words. He was standing very straight, very still, the faint colouring high on his cheeks another indication that he was feeling uncomfortable. Harry’s stomach sank. He’d somehow managed to forget entirely about his faux pas the weekend before. He rubbed a hand over his jaw. 

“Look, I'm.” Harry sighed, searching for the words. He’d spent the entire week trying to get Draco to talk to him, and yet now faced with the possibility he couldn't think of a single thing to say. “About the other night, when I ―” Harry waved a hand, his face heating unpleasantly. “Sorry I made things weird. I know I kinda freaked you out, when I ―” 

“You didn't freak me out,” Draco said quickly. “It just took me by surprise.” 

“Yeah.” Harry laughed breathily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Was a surprise to me too, really.” 

“Yes, I got that impression,” Draco said quietly, but sharply, “when you said it was an accident.”

Harry’s boots crunched against the path as he adjusted his weight, frowning at Draco. “It wasn’t, though,” he admitted. “It...wasn’t an accident.” Harry looked away, shielding his eyes from the sun, before turning back at Draco. “I didn’t think it through, but. It wasn’t like you were just there and I wanted to snog someone, and you would do,” Harry elaborated, with determination. “I kissed you on purpose,” he finished, a little louder than before. He wasn’t sure why it felt important that Draco know that ― hell, for all Harry knew it was going to make things infinitely worse between them ― but he was determined to say it regardless. Draco’s expression was somewhat unreadable. 

“On purpose and yet ill-planned and inadequately thought through.” Draco blinked slowly, folding his arms. He stood a little straighter. “Why does that _not_ surprise me,” Draco snapped, but it didn't have the edge to it Harry was expecting. He looked almost amused, _almost_ , and Harry tried for a smile. 

“Is that why you didn’t, um. Speak to me,” Harry asked. Draco looked away and then back again, his head at an angle. 

“Like I said, you surprised me,” he responded in a carefully measured tone. He sounded as if he was choosing his words carefully, and Harry braced himself for the worst. “I hadn't exactly thought of you in that way,” Draco told him stiltingly, and Harry felt himself nodding before the words had really sank in. 

_There we go_ , he thought, his stomach swimming with something unpleasant, the colour draining away from his face. At least Draco hadn't bothered to sugarcoat it, or drag this out, Harry thought miserably. He pushed his hair away from his forehead. 

“Yep, that.” Harry brushed his hair away again when the wind swept it right back into his glasses. “That makes sense. S’what I thought was the case,” he lied, not wanting to admit he’d been desperately hoping it was something else. 

Draco’s brow furrowed in confusion as he watched Harry talk. “No, look Potter, I was about to say ―” Draco started, but Harry cut him off, waving one hand in a movement that was far too rushed to be casual. 

“No, no, you don’t need to explain yourself, or justify it, it’s,” Harry forced a laugh, “s’me who’s made things weird, you don’t have to explain not being interested ―”

“No, that's not ―”

“And I mean, god,” Harry cringed, ignoring Draco’s interjections, “you don't need to worry about this trip. I know we’re stuck in the same tent, but I'm not gonna do it again, you can ―”

“Merlin, Potter, will you let me ―”

“No, I just mean,” Harry continued, undeterrable in his mortified embarrassment, the rejection swimming in his stomach, “You don't need to worry about me trying anything, or ―” 

“ _Harry_!”

Harry started, Draco’s face now inches from his own as he stepped closer and all but shouted in Harry’s face. Harry blinked, Draco’s fingers falling away from just above his elbow; Harry hadn’t even registered that Draco was touching him. 

“Will you shut up?” Draco continued, quieter now. He cleared his throat, waiting for Harry to nod before he went on. “I was saying,” Draco repeated pointedly, “or trying to say, at least. I hadn’t thought of you like that, or not exactly,” Draco mumbled somewhat secretively, “I mean I’d noticed you were fit. Hard not to, the way you insist on training half-naked,” he added defensively, even as his cheeks reddened. Harry blinked, his frown and then his growing confusion deepening as he stared at his feet. “I wasn’t expecting you to do something like that, though. I didn't think you were ―" Draco cut himself off with a small shake of his head. "Well, it doesn't matter why. It was just unexpected. _But_.” Draco waited for Harry to look him in the eye again. “I’ve thought about it, and. If something were to happen again, now. If you.” Draco licked his lips. His face was colouring deeply but his eyes never left Harry’s. “Well, if something did happen, if you did try something now. I would not object to it.” Draco took a step back, hands at his sides and his back straight. His face was flushed a deep red. “That’s what I was trying to say,” he finished in an awkwardly formal tone. 

Harry swallowed, his heartbeat beginning to race and silence around them, except for the dull sound of the wind, and the cawing of the large raven that had settled on the wooden sign behind Draco. Harry looked back at Draco, his expression stuck between surprise and confusion as Draco regarded him. 

“Wha ― really?” Harry breathed out, his mind still racing to catch up with what Draco’s mouth had just said, and his stomach reeling from the sudden switch from unpleasant rolling to almost excited fluttering. 

“Yes, well, within reason,” Draco snapped, seemingly fighting to regain composure. “That’s not a blanket yes to anything your heart desires.”

“No, I didn’t think it was,” Harry quickly replied. He was still trying to figure out what it actually _was_ a yes to ― why Draco had gone from abruptly leaving Harry alone in the pub, to now giving Harry a somewhat green light ― but either way Harry was overwhelmingly glad it wasn’t a no. Glad, and not a little bit confused, but he could handle that. He didn’t know what he was doing here anyway, when it came to people and snogging them and the intricacies of navigating what happened after you realised you properly fancied someone. 

Draco nodded, then began fussing with his heavy rucksack, pulling it back onto his shoulders. Harry watched, biting his lower lip, and trying not to smile. He knew it would look stupid if he did. 

“Why didn't you talk to me?” he blurted, curiosity getting the better of him. 

Draco looked away, almost rolling his eyes in an effort to cover his own embarrassment. “Because I, unlike you, like to think before I act, or respond to something. So I did.” He paused as if he had more to say, but then shook his head slightly. He sniffed, then looked back, his grey eyes hard. “And then I did talk to you,” he said, stiffly.

Harry opened his mouth to ask when, then stopped as the answer occurred to him. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth, a small smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. 

“Thank you for the book,” Harry said softly, watching Draco’s face flush further. There was even splotchy colour on his neck, over the line of his collarbone which was just barely visible as the strap of his rucksack pulled his top to the side. Harry looked away, then back again quickly, unable to keep his eyes off Draco’s neck for long. He felt like laughing, almost, a strange and relieved joy creeping up inside him. 

“Yes, well.” Draco sniffed, swivelling on one foot and starting to walk ahead slightly. “You’re welcome, and we should start walking.” He waved a hand, floppily, before letting it fall to his side. “Now that we’ve cleared that all up,” he said with some finality. 

Harry nodded, then tilted his head, mouth half open. He started to talk, possibly to mention that he wasn’t entirely sure that they’d actually cleared much up, when a raven took flight then swooped down towards him, forcing him to step quickly to the side and out of its way.

“Merlin,” Harry mumbled, watching the raven circle above them in jubilant, almost playful movements. It had oddly silver eyes, Harry thought, as it dipped lower again. Harry wasn’t sure if that normal for a raven or not; his ornithological knowledge was incredibly sparse. 

“That was close.” Harry frowned up at the bird as it continued to swoop and dip excitedly. “And weird.”

“Mmm, not that strange.” Draco stepped back, taking this opportunity to walk farther up the path and simultaneously away from extending this conversation any further into his own emotional reactions over the past week. “Scandinavian ravens are notoriously attracted to messy hair.”

“Oh really?” Harry asked skeptically. 

“Yes, it’s a well-known fact. I expect it thought you had an actual bird’s nest up there, so it was simply bedazzled by all this prime real estate you’re offering.”

Harry stared at Draco’s animated face blankly. “You made that up.”

“Yes,” Draco confirmed, taking another step towards the path and almost smiling. “Now, can we please start this stupid hike?”

Harry nodded, but only took one step before he stopped again. “Wait, so what actually do you mean by not object ―” 

“Merlin, Potter, do you want me to send you a formal invitation or something?” Draco whirled around, pushing his hair back from his still slightly red cheeks. “It means you can try and snog me again, all right? Now, can we please walk?” He gestured behind him, and then at the sky. “Even the sodding ravens are sick of us having this conversation.” Harry grinned as Draco huffed and started up the path. 

“Yep,” Harry mumbled, smiling down at his feet as his boots crunched on the dirt path. “We can walk.” 

“Fucking hell.” Draco shook his hair out of his eyes, stomping up the path, “if we don’t make our marker by nightfall, then I want it on record that it was your fault we had to sleep in a ditch and were subsequently eaten by trolls,” he called over his shoulder. 

“Norway,” Harry said quietly after a moment.

“What?” Draco stopped, looking at Harry with a puzzled grimace.

“Trolls are Norway.” Harry tried to suppress his smile. “So, unless we manage to actually walk all the way there ―”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Draco stomped off again, rubbing his hand over his mouth to cover his laugh. He cleared his throat, shooting Harry what was meant to be a glare, but it was rather difficult to pull off when he was trying not to smile. He pointed at the path ahead of them, leading to Alesjaure, where they would be camping for the night. “We want to go that way, and try to cover as much ground as possible.” 

Harry nodded as he caught up to Draco, holding Draco’s eye contact just long enough to see him start to blush. “Just not all the way to Norway?” he replied softly, stepping closer to Draco. Feeling bold, he took another step, watching Draco’s brows raise slightly. 

Draco looked down at Harry’s mouth, before he looked away quickly, then back up to Harry’s eyes. That persistent lock of hair was across his cheek again, the wind blowing it towards his lips as they twisted into a smile, as Draco took a step closer until he and Harry were almost toe to toe. Harry held his breath, heart racing as Draco leaned closer still, his nose almost touching Harry’s. 

“No,” he said, softly, playfully. “We’re not walking to fucking Norway.” Draco’s breath gusted softly over Harry’s face, his cheeks, and Harry momentarily leaned into it before Draco’s face split into a grin. 

He turned on his heel and started striding along the path. 

“Do keep up, Potter,” Draco called over his shoulder. Harry huffed a laugh, hitching his bag higher on his shoulders. 

“Yep,” Harry said again, watching Draco’s rucksack ahead of him as he followed behind. 

The path of the Kungsleden stretched on before them.

~*~

It was nearly dusk by the time they finished walking the first leg of their hike, reaching their designated camping area.

“Isn’t this charming,” Draco said insincerely as he dropped his rucksack heavily into the ground between two large trees. 

Harry grunted in response. His thighs ached, his calves burned a little, as he let his rucksack fall to his elbows and then the ground. He knew he’d be feeling it in his legs tomorrow, but he was impressed with the time they’d made. At this rate they’d have no trouble making their Monday departure rendezvous. Although, on the downside, Harry was going to sorely miss being able to bathe; he was passable at casting wandless cleaning charms, but they really weren't the same as a good, hot shower. 

“I had no idea it would be uphill the whole way,” he grumbled, cracking his neck. 

“Well, you’re an idiot,” Draco replied absently, pulling the tent away from his rucksack. He carried it to the smoothest area between the trees, then dropped it onto the ground. He pushed his hair back behind his ears, smoothing it down. Quite a lot of it had escaped his bun, framing his face in a messy halo. His cheeks were ruddy with exertion, although he was easily as fit as Harry and matched him step for step. Harry suspected it was because of Draco’s pale complexion. Either that, or Draco had somehow managed to get sunburnt, Harry thought, suppressing a smile. Draco shot him a withering glance, hands on his hips. 

“Stop giggling inanely and help me set this up,” he demanded, scowling at Harry and waving a hand at the pile of tent paraphernalia. 

“I'm not giggling.” Harry bent down to unroll the metal poles and pegs. “Have you ever done this before?” he asked Draco as he began to clear the area of any remaining rocks or twigs, kicking them away with the toe of his boot. Draco stopped, mid-way through pulling his hair loose from its bun; it swung a little, kinking from being held back. Harry swallowed, and quickly looked away. Honestly, it was not normal to fancy someone’s hair. He tucked his own behind one ear, as Draco walked closer. 

“No,” Draco stated, slipping his hair band around his wrist. “I have never in my life set up a tent, magical or otherwise.” He sneered down at the tarpaulin covering. “Nor have I slept in one.” 

“Let me guess,” Harry grinned, beginning to line up the pegs, “you had staff for this kind of thing?” 

Harry flicked his fringe away from his glasses, suddenly thankful it hadn't rained today; he had no idea how to cast a wandless Impervious Charm, and he wasn’t sure how long the one he had applied before they set off that morning would last. He was certain it wouldn't hold by the end of this training exercise. 

Draco looked at him dourly. “No, Potter, I did not have _staff_ to set up tents, because I never did anything so pedestrian as go camping.” He folded his arms, then sniffed. “I've been inside them, yes, but not.” Draco wrinkled his nose at their surroundings. “Not in the middle of Swedish nowhere.” 

Harry laughed, beginning to set the tent up in earnest. Draco made a vaguely impressed sound, moving to help Harry hold the tent tarpaulin so Harry could set the peg underneath it. 

“I take it you have?” Draco inquired after another few moments of working in silence. 

“Been camping?” Harry laughed dryly. “Once,” he said, rubbing the back of his hand over his mouth. 

“With your fam ― your relatives?” Draco asked. Harry laughed again, this time louder. 

“God no, never with the Dursleys.” 

“I thought it was a common, outdoor Muggle pastime,” Draco commented, with the assured air of someone who had read that in a well-recommended book and wasn't prepared to have their sense of things shaken up by hearing otherwise, thank you. 

“Yeah, well it is, probably.” At Draco’s frown, Harry went on, rolling his sleeves up. “I mean, the Dursleys went a few times. Wales, of course.” Harry made a wry face, aware Draco was still watching him. “Didn't take me though. Doubt it would have even crossed their mind, unless it was,” Harry grunted as he banged a tent peg into the ground with a rock, “to leave me somewhere and hope social services took me off their hands.” He bashed the tent peg again, even though it was firmly in place, his mouth twisted a little bitterly. He sighed, then forced himself to smile up at Draco, who was standing in front of him with a tent pole in each hand. 

“What’s social services?” Draco asked bluntly. 

Harry barked a laugh. “Never mind.” He stood with a crack of knees. “Bottom line is, no, I never went camping with my relatives, and the other times I’ve been in tents, I… well, used magic.” He looked away, squinting at the sun in order to avoid having to think about the forest of Dean, and the last time he’d done something resembling camping. He rubbed a hand over his suddenly queasy stomach, trying to push the memories away. It was getting dark, and he was hungry. 

Draco regarded him silently, letting Harry’s words and change of demeanour sink in before he spoke again. 

“So how the hell are you so good at this, then?” he inquired, handing him the tentpole in his left hand and steering the conversation back onto its course. 

Harry grinned, relieved not to be asked any further questions. Honestly he wasn’t sure what he would say. He generally tried not to think about the events leading up to, and after, the time he’d spent hunting Horcruxes with Ron and Hermione, and then just Hermione. He still had nightmares of icy water closing over him, of gleaming swords. He knew Ron had nightmares about the same thing, too. Harry cleared his throat, focusing on what was happening now rather than what had happened then. 

“I,” Harry said proudly, “practiced it.” He picked up another tent pole, moving to the sloping side of the tent. “With Bill,” he added. “Even had a race to see who could set one up fastest.” 

“And you won?” 

“Nah, lost dismally.” Harry grinned, banging the last tent pole into place with his rock, then throwing it off to the side. It banged against a tree, then fell to the ground. He stood with hands on his hips, surveying his work. “But it’s not about speed, it’s about precision.”

“Hmm. Looks wonky over there,” Draco said, pointing at a corner. Harry squinted, then glared indignantly. 

“Does not.” Harry’s glare softened as Draco laughed, high and happy. 

“No, it doesn’t. You’re a master tenter.” Draco pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Should you ever find yourself wandless and in a clearing, yet somehow in possession of a tent and a sufficient amount of camping gear and equipment, I think you’ll happily survive the night,” Draco finished sarcastically. Harry’s shoulders sagged. 

“God, this training exercise is _stupid_ ,” Harry said emphatically. Draco nodded. 

“And I’m hungry. Let’s dispense with stating the obvious and try not to set fire to your wonderful handiwork as we cook whatever the hell it is I bought at the camping store.”

“I don’t think tents are flammable.” Harry watched Draco begin to unpack his day’s rations, and the small gas burner they would use to cook their food on. After a cold lunch of sandwiches and apples, the last properly fresh food they would be having until Monday, Harry was looking forward to a hot meal, even though he knew from what he’d packed himself that the options were pretty bleak. 

“Of course tents are flammable,” Draco distractedly pulled out a packet of noodles and some dehydrated mashed potatoes, “everything’s bloody flammable if you try hard enough.”

Harry hummed, making a mental note not to leave Draco and the gas burner unattended, as Draco dropped the packets onto the ground, looking at them as he would a collection of dissected Flobberworms. He turned his unimpressed gaze up to Harry. “Bon appétit.”

Harry sat down on the cold ground, pulling his jumper tighter around him as the sun set fully and they set about cooking their abysmal meal.

“You’re good at this,” Harry said, as he watched Draco set up the gas burner with only minimal fuss. “At getting by without magic,” Harry elaborated, at Draco’s cursory glance. 

“That surprises you?” Draco asked sharply. Harry frowned, surprised by his tone. 

“Well, honestly, yeah. I mean,” Harry tucked some hair behind his ear, flicking his torch on to give them some extra light in the dark clearing, “you've grown up around magic, right?” 

Draco nodded, not quite meeting Harry’s eyes. 

“So, it must be hard, or new at least, for you to not have your wand with you,” Harry finished. Draco was silent, mouth pressed tightly together as he stared at their dinner. Harry began to wonder if perhaps Draco wasn't going to reply, when he finally looked up and met Harry's eyes. 

“I wasn't born with a wand in my hand, if that’s what you’re getting at, Potter,” he said curtly. 

Harry leant forward a little, careful not to shine the torch in Draco’s face. In the darkness, with only the torchlight and the fire of the gas burner, it was hard to read Draco’s expression, but his tone was telling Harry to proceed with caution. Harry rested his chin in his hands, his elbow on his knees. 

“You were born around magic, though,” he persisted, curious as to why this seemed to be a touchy subject for Draco; it was perfectly innocent inquisition from Harry’s perspective, or at least, that was what he was telling himself. “Imagine it wasn't that long after you were born before a wand was _put_ in your hands.”

“Yes, and it wasn't that long ago that my wand was taken out of my hands either, was it?” Draco snapped. His voice had risen, slightly too loud given their close proximity, and Draco appeared embarrassed by it. He licked his lips, clearing his throat, as Harry blinked at him in surprise. 

“I thought you said you bought a new one,” he blurted. He knew immediately what and when Draco was referring to, the words tumbling out his mouth in a rush before he had a chance to consider if they were appropriate or not. 

“I did.” Draco nodded a little as he spoke, tucking his hair behind his ears with both hands simultaneously. “When our assets were unfrozen.” Draco’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “And I could find someone who would sell me one.” 

Draco’s expression looked a little bitter before he managed to reign it in. Harry himself didn't know what expression his face would show if a mirror was plonked in front of him now; a combination of surprise, perhaps, and of distaste. _No wonder Ollivander didn't want to fucking sell you a wand_ , he thought, feeling a spike of anger at the memory of the manor, and of what had happened there. To Ollivander, to Luna ― to Hermione. Harry felt his scowl deepen. He found it hard to feel any sympathy for the Malfoys, with the events of that night suddenly clouding his vision with a slow and deeply wound fury. 

The anger didn’t last long though, ebbing away to be replaced by a momentary guilt at the fact that Harry hadn’t returned Draco’s wand. He hadn’t even thought of it, really, after the dust of the war had settled around him. There’d been too much else to do, so much that had overwhelmed him ― sleep, first, had been all he’d wanted, and then hot food, a full belly, and familiar surroundings. That was hard to come by, though, with so many of his safety nets torn up by grief, and loss; the sight of George, alone at the dinner table, still made Harry’s heart ache, and it had taken him two weeks before he could bring himself to visit Teddy, the loss of Tonks and Remus ― his last remaining connection to his parents ― so palpable he felt it might smother him in his sleep. Sobbing into the surprised baby's hair as it flickered from blue to violet to pink wasn’t how Harry wanted Teddy to first meet his godfather, but Andromeda had given them space, and then had returned with a bottle for Teddy and tissues and a glass of lemonade for Harry. 

“Better out than in,” she’d whispered to him, her own eyes clouded and watery, but Harry had agreed; he did feel better. A little bit stupid, and embarrassed, and like Teddy must think he was bonkers, but better all the same. 

Amongst all that, and the ensuing fugue Harry felt about what he would do with his life now, Draco’s wand had been forgotten. It sat on a shelf in Grimmauld place, with an old pack of Exploding Snap cards and Harry’s parchments and books from sixth year, until Harry learned Draco had been accepted into the Auror program along with him. Only then had Harry bothered to attempt to return it, or to think he should offer to do so. When Draco said he now had a new one, Harry’d accepted it at face value. He’d not given a moment’s thought to how long Draco had spent wandless, or if he’d tried to use someone else's, his mother’s perhaps. Harry’d never thought about it at all before now. 

Draco’s old wand was still sitting on Harry’s shelf at Grimmauld Place, collecting dust. 

Harry sighed, picking at a slightly rough edge of his thumbnail as Draco stared off to his left. His expression downcast and, Harry almost found, rueful. If Harry wasn’t thrilled with this reminder of the war, then Draco seemed equally dismayed and introspective about it. _Good_ , part of Harry thought maliciously, _he should feel shit about that_. The rest of him, though, just felt bleak that it had come up at all, and that they both now felt a little worse for it. 

The small pot of noodles bubbled between them as the silence awkwardly stretched on. 

“Think the food's ready,” Harry said softly, after another sombre minute. Draco startled out of his reverie, quickly taking the small portable saucepan of noodles off the heat. 

“Thank you,” he uttered, giving Harry a look which could have been annoyed, or could equally have been grateful that Harry didn’t want push the subject further, for all that Harry could read it. Harry was mostly glad it was ambiguous, as he smiled at Draco and helped him with the bowls. He thought he saw Draco smile back, and Harry was relieved; he didn’t want to hash out the past, at least not like this and not right now. He was glad Draco seemed to agree. 

They ate their dinner in mostly companionable silence, before slowly feeling out the atmosphere and sparking up conversation. They each took turns, it seemed, to complain about the quality of their food ― as safe a ground as there could be for them to re-centre themselves after the conversation they’d just had. Harry, for his part, found that he hated packet noodles, while Draco surprisingly didn’t mind them, but he lamented the lack of anything ‘ _green and yet not dismally dehydrated and resembling a mummified pea_ ’. Harry refrained from pointing out that it probably _was_ a mummified pea, feeling himself begin to yawn before he’d even finished the chocolatey-yet-bland protein bars they ate for dessert. He forced the last few bites down, noticing Draco’s eyes were dropping too. After a moment, Draco sighed, blinking his eyes wide and crumpling up the wrapper of his bar. 

“That was disappointing,” he said, definitively. Harry nodded in agreement, giving in and yawning widely into his palm. 

“Quite.” 

Draco stood, with some effort, stretching out his arms. Harry looked away quickly from the strip of bare skin that was revealed when Draco raised his arms even higher. “Merlin, what I would give for a heating charm right now,” he said, as Harry flicked off the gas burner, then stood too. “The nights are going to be bitter.” Draco made a face, mouth twisting as he glanced at the tent. 

“I can try.” Harry gestured at Draco’s torso. “You know, try to cast one wandless.”

Draco looked down at him skeptically from his inch and half height advantage. “Have you done it before?” 

“No.”

“Then I’ll pass.” Draco’s lip quirked as he smiled. “Along with the tent, I’d also like to not be set on fire,” he muttered, before he pulled away the zipped flap of the tent, stooping to step inside. 

Draco’s shoulders sagged, almost imperceptibly, as soon as he was inside. Harry huffed a laugh. 

“You were expecting it to be bigger on the inside?”

“Fuck off. Yes,” Draco said with a heavy sigh, giving Harry a glance over his shoulder to let him know it wasn't heartfelt. He began to unroll his sleeping bag, shifting aside so Harry could crawl in next to him. 

As he looked at the space they had to sleep in, Harry began to wish that it actually _was_ charmed to be larger on the inside. 

“So this is where we, um.” Harry watched Draco try to unzip his sleeping bag, after a moment’s difficulty trying to figure out the metal teeth. “This is where we’ll sleep?”

Draco chuckled softly in triumph as he undid the bag, swiftly arranging it on the ground. He stood, able to stand just about upright with his head touching the top of the tent. “Goodness, what remarkable powers of perception you have,” he said, in lieu of a proper reply. “Amazing of you to deduce that we will in fact be sleeping inside the tent.”

“Ha ha,” Harry said dryly. “It’s just, you know.” He cleared his throat. “Actually pretty small in here.”

“Are you casting aspersions on the size of my tent?” Draco asked in a crisp tone. He sat down heavily, pulling his jumper and then t-shirt over his head; Harry looked away rapidly. 

“No,” he croaked, over the faint rustle of Draco getting into his night clothes. “No, I just mean, we don't have a lot of room in here.” Harry began rummaging in his rucksack, to give him something to do other than think about Draco getting undressed right next to him. 

“Mmm.” Harry glanced up to see Draco, now dressed in thick pyjama bottoms, socks, and a hooded jumper. He looked down at his knees, pulling out a teeth cleaning potion. “Close quarters will help keep us warm,” Draco said quickly, taking a generous swig of the potion and swishing it around his mouth. Harry paused, t-shirt over his head but only one arm inside it as he watched Draco's cheeks fill and empty, one side pushing out after the other before he quickly exited the tent to spit. Harry pulled the t-shirt on properly, followed by a thick hooded jumper, then rubbed his hands over his cheeks. He was entirely certain it was not normal to have gotten turned on by that, he thought, feeling stupid. Harry exited quickly after Draco returned and handed Harry the potion, grateful for having an excuse to leave the tent for a moment. 

“God almighty, that tastes foul,” Harry exclaimed moments later as he awkwardly clambered back inside; it was difficult in the dark, with only the faint light of the charmed roof of the tent, one of the few charms Draco had deemed they could fly under the radar of their superiors. Harry wasn’t sure if that was allowed, but he didn’t care. It was better than tripping over. “Like cloves or something,” Harry went on. 

“It is cloves,” Draco replied, slipping his feet under one of the undone sleeping bags. “And it’s no substitute for a teeth cleaning charm, but it’s the best we have.”

“What about just using a toothbrush?”

“Don’t be disgusting,” Draco replied derisively. The hood of his jumper was pulled over his head, his expression carefully blank, and Harry quickly realised Draco had laid one sleeping bag on top of the other in a semblance of a bed. There was a rug over both of them, thin yet warm looking, the empty sleeping bag cases stuffed full of their clothes to create makeshift pillows. 

“Oh,” Harry said, at a loss for what else might be sensible in this situation when confronted with the reality of sharing a bed with someone. 

“It’ll be warmer this way,” Draco replied, slightly too fast to be casual. “I don’t know about you, but I am freezing, and I want to get a decent night’s sleep.” He turned away, as Harry nodded then crawled over Draco’s legs as carefully as he could, ignoring the flutter in his stomach at the idea of so literally sleeping together. 

“Sounds smart,” Harry mumbled, getting under the sleeping bag himself. 

Draco did have a point; it was bloody cold, the arrival of night bringing with it a deep and sharp chill that Harry could feel through his clothes. Any extra heat would be more than welcome, and the fact that it was coming from the proximity of Draco’s body was something Harry was just going to have to remind his body not to get too excited about. He lay down, careful to keep a bit of distance as Draco turned onto his side, his back to Harry. Harry sighed, staring at the line of Draco’s shoulders, the blue of his jumper hood, before Draco raised one hand and clicked his fingers. 

The lights of the tent dimmed, then extinguished, leaving them in darkness. 

“Good night, Potter,” Draco said after a moment, his voice a little drowsy, and heavy with pending sleep. He moved back a little, his head only inches from Harry’s, and Harry swallowed, shutting his eyes and licking his lips. He twisted his mouth, feeling his pyjama bottoms becoming a little tight already; he adjusted himself as quietly and surreptitiously as he could, grateful that he suspected he was actually too tired to get fully hard. As long as he kept a bit of distance between them, he thought, it would be fine. He let himself creep a little closer to the warmth of Draco’s body, his arms still around his middle. Harry sighed, suddenly feeling how truly tired his body was after so many consecutive hours of walking. 

“Night, Draco,” he mumbled, ending in a yawn. Harry pulled his legs up a little, mirroring the bend of Draco’s knees. He lay as still as he could, listening to the faint sounds of the insects outside and the overwhelming quiet of the night, unhindered by city sounds. 

Harry let his eyes slip closed.

~*~

Harry awoke some time before dawn, one leg of his pyjamas rucked halfway up his calf, his knees tucked up behind Draco’s and his face pressed against something soft, and warm.

He moaned softly, eyes still mostly shut as he nuzzled closer to the warm body in front of him. It was cold in the room, Harry could tell, cold outside of the warm cocoon around him as he let his nose press against Draco’s hair, the hood of Draco’s jumper having slid down in his sleep. Harry inched closer, rolling his hips and then sighing as they met Draco’s pyjama-clad arse. Harry rolled his hips again, his erection pressing against the firm shape of Draco, and he nuzzled closer, his lips almost against Draco’s neck ―

 _Draco’s neck_. 

Harry blinked his eyes open, suddenly realising what he was doing. 

“Oh, god, sorry, sor ―” Harry frantically muttered, pulling his hips back. At least, he started to, before Draco’s hand slid back, gripping the side of Harry’s hip and gently keeping him in place. 

“Sorry,” Harry repeated, beyond mortified and unsure what else he should say. He was half-asleep still, his cock throbbing between his legs, and he wasn't entirely certain what Draco had meant by saying he wouldn't object to Harry trying something again, but he was pretty sure that Draco hadn’t been referring to Harry groping him in his sleep. 

Draco’s hand on Harry’s hip, though, did seem to be vaguely indicating otherwise. 

“Do. Um.” Harry leant up onto one elbow, biting his lip when he accidentally brushed his cock against Draco again. “Sorry I woke you,” he whispered stupidly into the darkness, trying to angle his hips away. Draco’s fingers flexed on his hip, slipping back slightly.

“S’okay,” Draco murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. He didn’t move his hand, his chest rising and falling evenly as he appeared to be blinking himself awake in the predawn darkness of the tent. Harry tried to keep as still as he could, aware his erection was still pressed up firmly against Draco. Draco sighed softly, turning his face against his makeshift pillow as he arched his back, his arse pressing a little firmer against Harry’s groin. Harry bit his tongue, swallowing the groan that wanted to fall out of his mouth. 

“Draco,” he started, wondering dimly if perhaps Draco wasn’t aware of what he was doing, of the state Harry was in. He had to be though, Harry reasoned, clenching his toes in his effort not to push forwards against Draco. Harry didn’t have a lot of experience here ― any, really ― but their pyjama bottoms weren't that thick; surely Draco could feel Harry against him. 

Draco stirred again, fingers moving back slightly to Harry’s arse. 

“You can keep doing that,” Draco murmured, sounding more awake ― and, as Harry had suspected, entirely aware of what was going on. “If you want to,” Draco added, slowly pulling his hand away from Harry’s hip, one finger at a time. Harry brushed his messy fringe away from his forehead. He’d never done this before, wasn’t sure what Draco was even saying he was allowed to keep doing, but he decided quickly that he wanted to find out. 

He moved his own hand on top of Draco’s, keeping it in place, as he lay back down on his side. He let his nose brush against the slightly messy spread of Draco’s hair. 

“What can I keep doing?” he murmured against the nape of Draco’s neck, heart racing and needing to hear out loud what Draco was okay with him doing. He felt Draco hum in response. 

“This,” Draco answered, moving his hand gently, rocking Harry’s hips up against him. Harry gasped, and then again as Draco slowly set up a steady pace, urging Harry to grind up against his arse, back, and then forwards again. Harry slipped his arm around Draco’s waist, tentatively at first, and then more firmly when he felt Draco nod, felt him tighten his fingers on the shape of Harry’s hip and up the pace a little.

Harry shut his eyes, pressing closer and trying to control his uneven breathing. His cock was aching, throbbing, as he rolled his hips forwards against Draco. Even through their clothes, Harry could feel the warmth of Draco’s skin, and he pulled on his lower lip with his teeth, overheated and overwhelmed, and more turned on than he could ever remember being. 

“This’ll, _ah_ ,” Harry swallowed, “this’ll make me come,” he whispered quickly, his face burning even as he found it surprisingly easy to say it out loud. He heard Draco moan softly, his hand moving from Harry’s hip to his own groin. 

“Good,” Draco said, moving his hand between his legs. Harry could see the outline of the sleeping bag moving as Draco began to fist himself in quick, sharp movements. Impulsively, Harry slipped his own hand to Draco’s groin. Draco groaned as Harry traced his fingers over Draco’s fist as it moved within the confines of his pyjama bottoms. He groaned again, low and deep, when Harry lay his hand around it. 

“Fuck,” Draco muttered, his hand speeding up. Harry moaned, his mouth open and almost pressing against the nape of Draco’s neck. He moved his hips faster, the muscles of his stomach and arse working as he ground against Draco in long, heady movements, his balls tightening as he felt sweat prickling at the back of his neck, heard Draco’s soft sounds as he worked his hand over his own prick. Harry could feel the head of his cock leaking against the front of his pants, making a damp patch against the material and he shut his eyes, panting openly against Draco’s neck. On an impulse, he pushed Draco’s hair aside, letting his lips run against his hot skin, then his tongue, and felt Draco jerk, then groan, arching his neck so Harry could do it again. Harry licked his lips, running them over Draco’s skin and rolling forwards once more, harder, and then again, before he felt his balls tighten, his eyes scrunching shut as he came in a sudden, toe-curling rush against Draco’s arse. 

“Fu ― _ah_!” he gasped, biting his lips to try and keep the sound in. He heard Draco grunt, low and strangled before he stilled, his breath whistling out through his teeth as he moved his fist frantically, then stilled, spilling over his hand and the top of his pyjama bottoms, the sleeping bag beneath them. Harry pressed his forehead to the back of Draco’s head as he waited for his breathing to calm. He felt Draco wipe his fingers on the base of his own t-shirt.

Harry exhaled roughly, felt his breath move Draco’s hair slightly. “What about,” Harry sucked in another breath, still feeling a little dizzy, dazed, “the mess,” he said, blushing still. 

“Cleaning charm,” Draco said thickly, pressing his back more firmly against Harry’s chest. “Give me a moment,” he mumbled. Harry nodded, his body suddenly heavy and lethargic. He wrapped his arm around Draco’s middle again. The act somehow felt more intimate than anything else that had happened, and Harry sighed, the air of the dark tent now warm and thick with the scent of sex ― _sex_ , Harry thought dizzily. He shut his eyes, trying to keep his own breathing to match the slow pace of Draco’s, the fingers of one hand brushing against Draco’s wrist. Harry imagined he could hear the quiet thrum of his heartbeat coursing through the almost intangible threads of the bond. 

“I‘ll clean up in a minute,” Draco mumbled again, voice heavy with sleep and one foot tangled with Harry’s. 

Harry woke up again nearly two hours later. 

It was 7am, his watch told him, as he groggily glanced at it, and the sun was well and truly up. Harry was sore, his limbs a little stiff, and his hair was a mess. He was also, he noticed quickly, completely alone in the tent. 

Harry sat up, slipping his hand to his groin and blushing wildly as he did so, but he was clean, his pyjama bottoms dry. He blinked, staring ahead and wondering for a moment if it had really happened or if he had had a particularly enthusiastic dream, but that didn't seem right; if he had been dreaming, then history would indicate that he was more than likely to wake up in the company of evidence of that dream, rather than squeaky clean. Harry’s frown deepened as he quickly dressed in clean pants and socks, and then his hiking gear. It, too, was neatly cleaned and folded, he noticed, and Harry’s stomach flipped a little as he ran his hands over the items before pulling them on. Draco’d mentioned cleaning charms, this morning after they had... Harry’s cheeks flushed further. 

He’d definitely gotten off with Draco this morning, Harry thought, with a rush of giddy warmth. 

He wasn’t entirely sure, though, he mused as he laced up his hiking boots and then began to roll up his sleeping kit, what happened after this. He was certain he should bring it up, somehow, that they should talk about it. Harry worried at his thumbnail before packing up Draco’s sleeping bag, too. He definitely wanted to do it again. His cheeks heated at the thought, at the idea of what they’d done, of doing more. Harry’d already entered territory that was entirely new for him, new and exciting, and while he’d never expected he’d end up chipping away at his virginity while on a training expedition in the North of Sweden with Draco Malfoy, he couldn't say he was that unhappy about this development either. Harry sucked on his lower lip and struggled a comb through his hair before giving the job up as a hopeless cause. He ran one hand over the back of his neck, remembering the feel of Draco’s overheated skin beneath his lips, the salty-sweat tang as Harry’d kissed the nape of his neck. No, Harry thought, flushing. He was definitely not unhappy about this development. 

Harry really wasn’t sure what the etiquette was after something like that, though. 

He stood with a crack of joints, determining that he would just broach the topic straight away. He was direct, Malfoy was direct; direct was the best approach. 

Harry opened the flap of the tent, the morning sun and fresh air fortifying him as he walked over to where Draco was sitting with a cup of tea for himself and a strongly brewed coffee for Harry. 

As soon as he properly saw Draco, though, Harry forgot everything he was about to say. He stood and gaped, until Draco looked up at him. He raised his chin slightly. 

“Can I help you?” Draco asked, taking a sip of his tea. 

“You’re wearing glasses,” Harry stated. He was aware that he was doing something Draco loved to tease him about, which was blurting the obvious, but he couldn’t help it. Draco was wearing sodding _glasses_ , thin and wire-framed and absolutely the kind that those with some kind of vision impairment wore. 

Draco’s jaw set defiantly. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “I am.” He took another polite sip of tea from his metal mug, before facetiously adding, “You're going to make a wonderful Auror. I can see nothing gets by you.”

“Since when do you need glasses?” Harry exclaimed, subconsciously adjusting his own. 

Draco’s posture stiffened, as if he was possibly considering a lie, before he sighed, draining the last of his tea. He stood just as Harry reached him. 

“Since I was three,” he said. 

Harry’s mouth dropped again. “ _What_?”

“Look, it’s not a big deal, Potter,” he said. 

“I have _never_ seen you wearing glasses before.” Harry waved at Draco’s face almost accusingly. “Never.” 

“Well, you’re seeing it now,” Draco mumbled. 

“Never,” Harry repeated pointedly, folding his arms. Draco stared him down, before sighing again. He looked away and then back once more in exasperation. 

“I use a vision correction spell, all right!” he exclaimed after a moment. “At least I usually do, except they’re incredibly complex and I cannot cast it without a wand, and thus.” He pointed at his face, pursing his lips. They pursed even tighter when Harry laughed, once, in loud delight. 

“All those years,” he said with relish, “that you used to lay into me at Hogwarts about needing glasses, and the whole time you ―”

“Yes, all right.” Draco shook his head, his hair swinging slightly and brushing the tops of his shoulders as he crossed his arms in agitation. “If you’re quite done being smug.”

“I don’t think I will ever be done being smug about this.” Harry smirked even wider as Draco rolled his eyes. The glasses were plain, simple, and slightly too big for his face, but they oddly suited him. Harry wasn’t sure if Draco was far or near-sighted, and he suddenly wanted to know. The question was on the tip of his tongue, but something held him back. 

_You got off with him this morning_. 

Harry felt his face heat, then cleared his throat. He rubbed his hands together, then took the coffee Draco offered him with a nodded thanks, setting the cold rim of the metal mug against his lips. The coffee was lukewarm, and he drained half of the mug easily, feeling the tension slowly grow between them. 

Harry held the mug between both hands, toe to toe with Draco. 

“Have you been up for long?” he asked quietly. Draco shook his head. 

“No. Twenty minutes or so.”

Harry nodded, at a loss for what to say. “You. Um.” He squinted against the morning sun. “Thank you for cleaning my gear,” he eventually settled on. He didn’t think he could actually say ‘ _thank you for cleaning me_ ,’ without turning so red he resembled a strawberry. ‘ _Thank you for the sort-of-sex_ ’ was completely out of the question. 

“You’re welcome. I’m good at wandless cleaning charms,” Draco said firmly. He cleared his throat slightly. “Came in handy when. Um. Well, you know when,” he added tightly, but not angrily. Harry frowned, wondering when that was, before he quickly remembered why and when Draco might have needed to hone some basic spells in order to be able to cast them wandlessly, as well as the tension in their previous discussion of this subject. He felt like it was in some way important that Draco had volunteered this information, had brought this up, given it was something he so clearly didn’t enjoy discussing. But at the same time Harry could see from the tight set of Draco’s jaw that it wasn’t something he wanted to talk about further. 

“Thanks,” Harry muttered, seeing Draco relax slightly when Harry didn’t press the subject. Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I’m okay at them. But not great,” Harry confessed. 

Draco nodded, arms around his waist and his tea mug dangling loosely from his long fingers. Harry stared them, at Draco’s short nails and the way two of his fingers were looped in the handle of the mug. He tried to think of something, anything to say, but the words felt muddled in his head, refusing to arrange themselves properly. 

The silence stretched on between them. 

“Is this going to be awkward?” Draco asked, sudden and direct. Harry shook his head immediately, looking up to meet light grey eyes. 

“No,” he replied quickly. “Not awkward.” He cleared his throat, determined to make what he’d just said a fact; he’d liked what they’d done, and this was _not_ going to be awkward. “That was nice,” he added, voice a little steadier. “This morning, that was nice.”

He almost added that he’d never done that before, but thought better of it; he felt on some level that that information might actually make things more awkward, for Draco if not for Harry. Harry, for his part, felt pretty great about it all. He decided he’d share the information regarding his lack of experience with Draco when it became necessary ― or, more likely, when it became wildly apparent that Harry didn't have the faintest idea what he was doing when it came to sex. 

And Harry really was hoping that something more _was_ going to happen between them. 

“It was nice,” he repeated. Draco worried the corner of his lower lip, pointed canines pulling at the pink flesh, then nodded. 

“It was,” he said softly, a smile evident in the slightly creased corners of his eyes, even as Draco tried to stop it from being visible on his mouth. “There are worse things to wake up to,” he murmured, looking up at Harry from beneath his lashes as he tucked his hair back behind both ears, pulling it into a ponytail and then a bun. “I’m glad you liked it,” he said softly, quickly, as he wrapped the elastic band around his hair, then cleared his throat, a slash of pink high on each pale cheek. 

“I did,” Harry said, stepping a little closer. Draco nodded, Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he inclined his head to the left. 

“We should pack this up.” Draco gestured at the tent, shooting Harry a carefully moderated glance. The colour was deepening on his cheeks still, his eyes bright, Harry noticed, feeling warm himself. _I know what he sounds like when he comes_ , Harry suddenly thought, and he quickly turned away, looking down to try and hide his own smile. 

It was a losing battle anyway, he thought, giving up and grinning as together they began to dismantle the tent.

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

~*~

The weather was beautiful, clear skies and gentle sun, and they began their walk towards the peaks.

“I will endure one more day of this tomorrow,” Draco said, hitching his rucksack higher up on his shoulders, “and then I’m never walking again.”

Harry laughed, chewing on a protein bar as he trudged alongside him. “Ever?”

“No.”

“What, just,” Harry waved a hand, “gonna Apparate everywhere then?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Draco said emphatically, as they entered a flat area of the path. From here, Harry knew, they would be going off the trail and heading towards the Tjatjka valley, before meeting Holford at 10am on Monday. There was a small clearing ahead of them, through a denser patch of trees, and Draco paused, looking at it contemplatively then pulling out his map, while Harry took a moment to sit down. He paused, bottle of water halfway to his mouth as he stared at three ravens perched on a gnarled and decaying branch to their left. He frowned as the bird in the middle hopped closer to him, fixing him with a piercing silver gaze. 

“I think we’re being followed,” Harry said shrewdly. Draco looked up with alarm, then slowly turned to follow Harry’s eyeline. He snorted when he saw the birds. 

“Terrifying, Hansel,” he said, offhand. Harry scowled, and Draco gestured at the protein bar in his hand. “I suspect they’re following your trail of crumbs,” he elaborated. 

Harry shot him a withering glance. “Does that make you Gretel, then?”

“If you like,” Draco replied distractedly as he ran one long finger down the center of the map. “Ravens are attracted to magic, I’ve been told,” Draco mumbled thoughtfully, eyes never leaving the map. “And I’m sticking with my theory that they want to nest in your hair.” He frowned, then pulled his glasses off, moving to grab something out of his pocket. He groaned in dismay when he seemingly remembered he wasn’t in possession of his wand. 

“For Merlin’s sake,” Draco complained, tucking the map under his arm and using the edge of his jumper to clean the lenses of his glasses. “This is ridiculous.”

“Attracted to magic?” Harry asked, resting one foot on his knee and beginning to massage his calf. 

Draco nodded, slipping his glasses back on and folding his map up properly. He looked towards the clearing. 

“Yes, they’re inquisitive sorts, ravens. Very smart, too. Not sure how much of it is true, but my grandmother on my mother’s side used to tell me stories about ravens helping wizards, back when the magic we used was more connected to the land. They were always either tricksters, or guides, though, in her tales. The story was that the wizards were never really sure if the ravens were helping them or hindering them until it was too late.”

Harry stared at the three birds, the sun shining subtly off their glossy feathers. They were large, the middle bird easily the biggest, and Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that it was watching him with just as much interest. 

“Do you believe that?” he asked quietly. 

Draco sniffed. “I believe they’re just birds, Potter,” he replied. “And it’s important to bear in mind that good old Granny Dru also used to say that the house-elves were poisoning her sherry and that the Minister of Magic was actually an especially articulate Boggart who had usurped power, so.” Draco looked at Harry wryly over the rim of his glasses. “I learned at a young age to take her pearls of wisdom with more than one pinch of salt.”

Harry snorted a laugh, delighting when he saw Draco’s mouth twitch up into a smile. He stood, pulling his rucksack back on with some effort. 

“Well, either way.” Harry nodded towards the tree branch, boots crunching on the path as he walked to Draco’s side. “That’s definitely the same one as yesterday,” Harry said, with confidence. 

Draco raised his brows skeptically. “It's a raven, Potter. How can you tell one from the other?” He began to walk towards the clearing. 

Harry looked at the bird’s sleek black feathers, it’s sharp silver eyes. He tilted his head as he regarded it, certain beyond measure that the raven in the centre was the same bird that had playfully swooped him yesterday. He blinked, surprised as all three ravens tilted their heads too, mirroring Harry’s movement. Harry smiled. 

“That’s clever,” he said, genuinely impressed. Curious, Harry inclined his head to the other side. He watched the birds. The centre raven cawed. 

All three of them then tilted their heads in the other direction, mimicking Harry. 

Harry barked a loud laugh. Startled, Draco turned back to him, already a few metres ahead. 

“Potter, will you stop bothering the local fauna and hurry up?” he called as Harry reluctantly left the ravens to their tree branch, and jogged to catch up to Draco. 

“It's the same raven as yesterday.” Harry began to walk by Draco’s side. “I’m sure of it.”

“That’s wonderful, Harry.” Draco’s tone was dry, but his expression amused. “I’m so happy you’re making friends.”

“It’s following us!” Harry said, excitedly. 

“Perhaps it thinks you’re a dead moose.”

“It’s following us, and now it’s brought more with it.”

“A _big_ dead moose, then.” Draco sniffed. “A relative feast.”

Harry snorted a laugh. “Perhaps it’s attracted to you. You know, shiny hair, shiny _glasses_.” Harry let himself smirk as Draco glared at him half-heartedly. Harry’s smirk blossomed into a full grin. 

“Would you like to stay back there and continue playing funny buggers with the ravens, while I go on ahead?” Draco said thoughtfully. “I’m sure it would be interesting to see if the bond will just make our heads explode if we venture too far apart, or if it will ping us together like two Gobstones attached to the same rubber band.”

Harry made a face. “You know, I keep forgetting that it’s even there,” he said. 

“Perhaps that’s the idea,” Draco said dourly. 

“Why does that not comfort me, though?”

Draco’s mouth twisted with distaste. “I don’t know. I don’t like it either. And I still can’t recall having ever heard of this Locative Bond. It sounds like some kind of wandering pronoun, rather than a magical bonding process that the Ministry would sanction.” Draco snorted derisively. 

“What, you think it was dodgy?” Harry squinted, the sun in his eyes again, before they moved closer to the trees at the edge of the clearing. 

“This whole trip feels dodgy, Harry,” he said sharply. Before Harry could reply, Draco stepped into the clearing, his expression immediately lightening as he looked around at the arrangement of stones in the centre. 

“Knew it,” he said quietly, almost as if to himself. 

Harry frowned, dropping his rucksack to the ground by a large and smooth grey stone. “Knew what?” He looked around, aware that it seemed quieter here, somehow, even though the trees weren’t thickly spaced, and the clearing only contained some largish rocks, and a small stream. 

Draco nodded, looking around with satisfaction. “Systematic Magic site.” He turned again, surveying the area. “I’ve never seen one before, but I’m certain that’s what this is, based on the location, the map, what I read.” He smiled, hands on his hips. “I’m certain that’s what this is,” he said softly again, introspectively. 

Harry’s frown deepened, before his eyes widened in recognition. “Oh!” He clicked his fingers as he remembered. “You mean, like land magic? The, um. What did you call them,” Harry struggled to recall what he’d read on the parchment Draco had sent him, “sites the old wizards used to use, for rituals, casting major spells.” Harry frowned, then shook his head. “And you wrote something about juggernauts, about magical build-up indicating that specific natural locations were…” Harry trailed off. “No, sorry I can’t remember the rest.”

Draco looked back at him, brows creasing in faint surprise. “You read my notes.”

Harry shrugged, feeling his face heat. “Yeah, ‘course I did.” 

Draco made a contemplative face, the corners of his mouth turning down appreciatively as he regarded Harry. “Fifty points to Gryffindor, Mr Potter,” he said quietly. 

Harry snorted, face flushing further. “Shut up. It was interesting.”

“It is,” Draco agreed. “It’s jötnar, though. Not juggernauts.” Draco outright smiled as he moved to stand in front of Harry, letting his rucksack drop to his elbows, and then to the ground. “You're getting your mythologies crossed,” he said softly. 

Harry swallowed, eyes flicking from Draco’s eyes to his mouth, and then back again. “Am I?” he mumbled. 

“Yes.” Draco’s smile widened, his cheeks dimpling slightly, and Harry looked away, and then back at Draco. This close, he could see the flecks of darker grey in Draco’s light eyes, the shine of his hair as the dappled sun cast haphazard shadows over them both. 

“What’re jötnar, then?” Harry murmured, trying to drag his eyes away from Draco’s hair, and back to his face. Draco hummed, hands in his pockets. 

“Depends who you ask,” he said blithely. “From what I’ve read it seems they're magical creatures, _ancient_ magical creatures, that used to be spread across Northern Europe, and into the United Kingdom too, back before that’s even what it was called.” He looked at the assembly of stones around them. “Giants,” Draco said softly, “trolls, elves. Literature is vague on what they actually were, what they looked like. Perhaps it was all of them,” he said, a softer tone creeping into his voice, before he sighed. “They’ve not been seen for long enough for the records to blur, and if there are any left they keep well away from wizards and Muggles alike.” Draco’s expression turned wry. “Muggles don’t believe in them anymore, after years of knowing they were there, and the magical folk, well. Trophy hunting meant that the jötnar want nothing to do with our kind now, if they still exist. There are troll sightings in Norway though, once or twice a year.” Draco’s voice sounded almost reverent, excited, and Harry frowned. 

“Trolls?” he asked, unimpressed; the trolls he’d met were not exactly something to get excited about. 

Draco’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Not as we know them. They’re bigger, for one, the Norwegian trolls, and smarter but still, well, not the brightest. Anything that eats rocks isn’t likely to be that intelligent,” he scoffed. “But they’re not like those we have in the UK now.” He slanted Harry a glance. “And definitely not the kind you’d want to stick your wand up the nose of.”

Harry huffed a laugh. “I didn’t do that on purpose. I mean, I did, but it wasn’t like we saw the troll and thought ‘Oh, we know, wand up its nose, that’ll sort it’.” To Harry’s delight, Draco laughed. 

“You seem to have racked up quite a few of these accidentally-on-purpose moments, haven’t you?” He looked at Harry sideways, as Harry started to feel himself blush. He pressed his lips together, folding his arms rather than respond to that. Draco’s grin broadened. 

After another moment, Harry cleared his throat. “So, these sites are from when these jötnar used to, what, hang out with wizards?” 

Draco shook his head. “Oh no, long after even that. These are _old_. Old as the mountains, I’d say. No, the jötnar made these sites, or that’s how the story goes. They’re spots where the barriers between us and the land magic, the magic that runs through everything, is thinner.” Draco’s eyes glinted as he spoke, his expression keen and avid.

“It can be accessed?” Harry said quietly, catching Draco’s meaning. 

Draco nodded, slowly, his smile slim and excited. “Correct.” 

Harry looked down at the ground between his feet, then over at the large grey boulders and stones that covered the clearing. “By anyone?” Harry asked, wildly curious. 

Again, Draco shook his head. “I don’t think so. The old wizards used to used it for rituals, hundreds and thousands of years ago, but they had a very specific way to do it, and...not one that many magic folk would volunteer for.”

Harry looked back at Draco sharply. “Dark Magic?” he said harshly. 

“Conduits,” Draco replied. Harry blinked, confused. 

“What’s that?” he asked warily. 

“Who, you mean,” Draco said archly. “Conduits, in this instance, were people. The best way to be able to access magic as broad as that which exists within the land itself was via another magical human.” 

“How?” Harry asked quickly, then licked his lips. 

Draco gestured at himself with two fingers, crooked at the second knuckle. “Conduit,” he said, fingers pressed against his chest. Slowly, he moved his fingers to Harry, let them rest almost against his chest. “Caster,” he said softly, eyes sharp as held Harry’s gaze. He let his hand fall back to his side. 

Harry looked down at his chest, where Draco’s fingers had almost touched him through his jumper. “Like a human wand?” he said, voice a little thick. 

Draco made a contemplative face. “That’s one way of putting it, yes.” 

Harry pressed his hand to his sternum, then looked up at Draco through his fringe. 

“How do you know all of this?”

Draco’s lips slanted into a wry smile. “It’s amazing the things you read about when you have no friends and nothing better to do with your time.” 

Draco’s smile softened slightly as Harry scowled, something kicking off inside his chest at the idea of Draco referring to himself as friendless. _What about me_? he wanted to blurt, but he didn’t. He knew Draco had one or two friends, that he’d mentioned Pansy Parkinson a couple of times, but Harry also knew that she and Blaise Zabini had moved abroad as soon as they could. He could understand if Draco found himself lacking company of an evening, either through his friends having moved away, or through his own determined self-exclusion from a lot of society. Far be it from Harry to argue with what Draco had said to be true, about his own life especially. Harry still didn’t like hearing it though; he knew loneliness as one of the most awful things he’d experienced in his life. Considering what he’d been through, he suspected that was rather saying something. 

“I never knew you were bookish,” Harry said after a moment longer of wondering how to reply. Draco huffed a soft laugh, adjusting his glasses in either a deliberate or an unconsciously librarian-esque movement. 

“I know,” he smirked at Harry, “It’s amazing it didn’t come up more often during any of our long chats back at Hogwarts.” 

Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, amazing,” he retorted, but the bickering was half-hearted.

“And when I found out we were going to Sweden,” Draco went on, “I felt it would be interesting to find out if there were any sites here, and turns out there’s one or two. Here, and on the other side of the mountain, in the valley.” Draco wrinkled his nose. “The name of which I am not even going to try to pronounce.”

“Cha Cha?” Harry offered quietly, with a smile. Draco laughed again at the imitation of Holford's earlier mispronunciation. Harry wasn’t sure if Draco was doing it more, or if he was just relaxing around Harry, but he seemed to smile more, laugh more easily. Harry liked it. His face felt warm from the dappled sunlight that fell on them, as they stood in the small clearing amongst the large, impressive rocks. The slow bubble of the stream sounded loud as the water tumbled over the scattered pebbles and stones. 

“So why don’t people do it all the time, then?” Harry asked, a noted of awe creeping into his tone. He scratched at his elbow, pulling the sleeve of his jumper up slightly. “I mean, do this conduit and caster thing, use the land magic?”

Draco snorted. “Why would they? Hell of a lot of effort for something they already have at their fingertips.” Draco wiggled his fingers, brows raised expectantly at Harry. 

“Wands,” Harry said bluntly. “You mean this is no more powerful than a wand?” he added, unimpressed. 

“Oh, infinitely more powerful, Potter,” Draco retorted, “And infinitely more dangerous, more risk, more effort to access. Not to mention needing to find someone who would volunteer as the conduit, needing to find the location itself, which is getting rarer and rarer these days due to urbanization, the state of the environment. This part of the world is mostly untouched, these sites only of interest to a very select few. And once you find a site,” Draco shrugged, “it’s not like it’s portable, you have to stay in the one spot, cast away, and make sure you don’t lose your mind in the process of plugging it into the dirt and fishing for magical veins.” Draco smiled sharply. “Hardly something your average Ministry employee is going to be lining up for on their day off, is it?”

Harry hummed, shrugging one shoulder. “S’pose not,” he said, slightly disappointed by this explanation. He puffed his cheeks out, looking down at the ground beneath his dirty hiking boots. It looked normal enough, nothing exciting or striking about it, but Harry felt something stirring inside him from Draco's words. A deep curiosity, the kind he often felt when in the presence of new or thrilling magic, of something he wanted to get his hands on. 

He looked up through his fringe at Draco, only to see the same expression etched across his fine, pale features. 

“So,” Draco said playfully, his eyes gleaming. “Want to try something?”

Harry slowly began to smile. “Like what?” he asked, his heartbeat already starting to pick up a little at the idea of what Draco was mostly likely referring to. 

Draco grinned, a flash of straight, white teeth. “Take your shoes off,” he said. 

“What?” Harry laughed, following Draco with his eyes as Draco sat down on a medium sized rock and began tugging off his own hiking boots and socks.

“Shoes,” Draco inclined his head towards Harry’s feet, “off. Need skin contact with the earth, or at least one of us does. That’s how this works.”

“Okay,” Harry responded, drawing out the word. He bent down, then began slowly unlacing his boots, still warily glancing up at Draco every now and again. “What is it we’re doing exactly?” he asked when he was done, placing his own boots next to Draco’s by the rock. 

Draco stood, trousers rolled up to the ankle and bare feet pale against the dark ground, the scant patches of grass. He raised one brow, Harry’s heartbeat raising with it. 

“You know what we’re doing,” Draco said, standing opposite Harry. Harry licked his lips.

“Do I?”

“Yes.” Draco held Harry’s gaze, and Harry, feeling bold, took one step closer. 

“You mean.” Harry raised his hand. “Caster,” he pointed at himself, then extended two fingers, to touch just at the base of Draco’s sternum. “And conduit?” Harry swallowed, letting his fingers fall away, trailing down Draco’s stomach as he did so. Draco rolled his lips together, eyes darkening and one corner of his lips sliding into the smallest smile. 

“So first things,” he started, pointing at a medium-sized rock to Harry’s left. “Levitate that.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“The rock,” Draco repeated. “Levitate it, wandless. As high as you can.” 

“All right,” Harry answered slowly, turning until his toes pointed the rock. “Just using my own magic?” Harry asked, wanting to be clear. Draco nodded, once, and Harry extended one hand. 

He was okay at some wandless magic, at spells he’d practiced and used frequently. He could, for example, Summon things easily enough, could manage a basic cleaning charm when the need arose. Oddly enough, he knew a few cooking spells which Molly had taught him, but with all of those he was much better when in possession of his wand. But with a spell he’d never cast wandless before? Well, he wasn’t going to hold his breath that he would be able to channel his magic for that. Skeptically, Harry focussed on the rock, letting the words _Wingardium Leviosa_ swirl in his mind and then come into focus.

The rock tipped from side to side, before tumbling upwards, rising to about shoulder height and then falling back to ground with a heavy _thud_. 

“Not bad,” Draco said, head cocked to one side and arms folded across his middle. Harry let his hand fall back down to his side, then shrugged. 

“Now you,” Harry said. He scowled when Draco shook his head. 

“Now hold my hands,” Draco corrected. He held his hands out in front of him, palms down and wrists loose. 

“What?” Harry muttered, looking down at Draco’s forearms in mild alarm. Draco flexed his fingers, from littlest finger to index, as Harry stared. 

“My hands, or my wrists. There needs to be some kind of physical connection between the caster and the conduit,” Draco explained, seeming to enjoy Harry’s slow blush of discomfort. 

“Oh.” Harry cleared his throat, shuffling closer. He brushed a pebble away from the space in front of him with his toes, then took a deep breath. He gripped Draco’s wrists with his fingers, left hand first and then the right, his fingers curling around the jut of Draco’s wrist bones. Harry slowly met Draco’s eyes. 

“Good,” Draco said, his voice low and a little rougher than before. He cleared his throat softly, then licked his lips. Harry tracked the movement with his eyes. 

“What now?” he asked. 

Draco’s eyes glinted. “Now, cast again,” he said quietly, his voice intense. “Only try and draw the magic through me. For my part, I need to try and focus on the magic in the ground, on the pull from you, but,” Draco shrugged one shoulder, “I won’t be able to use it. Only you will. It will run through me, but end in you.”

Harry licked his lips, aware his cheeks were heating. 

“Pretend you’re my wand?” Harry queried, unable to keep the small smile off his face. 

Draco returned it, albeit in a much more muted way. “If you like. I’m the conduit, Harry,” he said, curling his fingers into a fist, and then relaxing them; Harry felt the movement in his wrists, impulsively tightening his grip. “Draw the magic through me,” Draco repeated quietly.

Slowly, Harry nodded. 

He sighed as he looked down at his toes, focussing on the warmth of Draco’s wrists in his hands, on the way he could almost wrap his fingers around them entirely, bringing the tip of his thumb to his middle finger. He didn’t know what Draco meant by drawing the magic up through him, how this was supposed to work, but Harry knew what magic felt like when it buzzed through his fingers, in his veins. He cast his mind back to that first time in Ollivander’s, when he held his first wand. The rush he’d felt, the pull and the intense thrill, was something he’d never forgotten. As he closed his eyes now, he imagined he could feel it again. He could hear the wind whistling through the leaves above them, the gentle sounds of the stream, and the soft thump of Draco’s heartbeat, and suddenly, Harry felt it. It was faint, but growing stronger, magic unlike that which he’d ever felt before. It was sluggish, somehow, slower than casting usually felt, but powerful, rushing towards him like an avalanche of stones and dirt, of leaves and water and wind, and underneath that all, something else. _Draco_ , Harry thought, able to pull at the thread of magic that felt different to rest, even as he felt the wind whipping around him, lifting his hair slightly and prickling over his skin. _That’s Draco's magic_. Harry bit his lower lip, eyes still closed and toes curling against the dirt beneath his feet. He felt the air crackle around him once more, static on his arms as he thought the words, imagined the spell in his mind. 

_Wingardium Leviosa!_

The rock shot up through the trees, disappearing into the sky, before coming hurtling back down with enough force to crack it in half upon impact with the ground.

“Fuck!” Harry stumbled back, dropping Draco’s wrists and turning delighted eyes to Draco. Draco laughed. 

“Impressive.”

“That’s insane!” Harry said, the feel of magic still tumbling inside him, around him, but it was ebbing away quickly, like water over thick, wet sad. Harry wanted to follow it, to let his own magic chase the threads of the power that was creeping back into the land, but something stopped him. Too big, he thought, too big and too much. He turned bright eyes back to Draco. 

Draco shrugged. “Conduit magic,” he wiggled his fingers, indicating himself, “lets you access the magic of this site without losing your mind. Well, presumably. And even then, you should only ever dabble.” He crossed his arms. “Magic like this is powerful. You felt it.”

Harry nodded, rubbing one hand over his wrist and staring at the rock. He found he vaguely missed the feel of Draco’s hands in his own. 

“It’s dangerous,” he said, rather than asked, aware that what he’d felt, the desire to slip away with the magic as it receded, to follow it to wherever it went, could easily be deadly. 

“Mm,” Draco nodded, itching at the inside of his elbow. “People get drunk on it, addicted to it, or so I’ve read,” Draco said, a tone of forced casualness creeping into his voice. “It’s so much bigger,” he said quietly. “Bigger than any of us. People can be drawn to power like that.”

Harry nodded, dragging his eyes away from the cracked rock. 

“Did you feel it?” he asked. Draco shook his head, not meeting his eyes. Harry bit his lip, then turned with hands outstretched. 

“Your turn, then?” he said. Draco stepped back quickly, shaking his head. A lock of hair had escaped his tidy bun, and Draco smoothed it behind his ears.

“No, Merlin.” Draco finally met Harry’s eyes. “No,” he repeated. 

“Why not?” Harry asked, half curious and half oddly rejected at his offer being declined. He couldn't understand why Draco wouldn't want to know what it had felt like; Harry himself already wanted to feel it again. He wanted to share this with Draco. 

Draco laughed once, wryly. “Because, Potter, I...” Draco broke off, then sighed. “Because I honestly don’t trust myself around that kind of power,” he said, looking at Harry clearly. “I’d rather not even touch it.”

Harry’s frown deepened, before he huffed a petulant laugh. “Oh come on, Malfoy, it’s one spell. Levitating a rock,” he said, cajolingly. “I mean, it didn’t corrupt me after just one spell.”

Draco scoffed, turning away and walking towards his boots, neatly lined up by the large boulder as they were. “Because you’re a good person, Harry,” he said, flicking an oddly warm glance over his shoulder. “Of course it wouldn’t corrupt you.” 

Harry folded his arms, one hip cocked. “You're not a bad person,” he replied quickly, sternly, but Draco only laughed in response, then nodded. 

“No. Perhaps not,” he looked up at Harry with humour as he sat down on the rock, taking his socks out of his boots and pulling them on. “But still. I don't want access to that kind of power. The land, or yours. Some things are better left entirely untouched,” Draco finished quietly. 

“You don't think I'd be tempted?” Harry asked, still scowling. “By power like that,” he qualified at Draco’s confused look. 

Draco raised his brows, mouthing ‘ah’ in understanding as he pulled his boots onto his feet. 

“Honestly?” he replied, not looking up as he began to lace his boots. “No. You might be tempted perhaps, for a fraction of a second, but you would never come anything close to giving in to that temptation.” Draco finished lacing his boots then sighed. He looked up at Harry, elbows on his knees. “If people had literal moral compasses, Potter, yours would waver, but it would always point true in the end. Always.”

Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek, scowling. “And yours?” he asked, almost harshly. He didn’t like this change of conversation, didn’t like the implication that he himself was some kind of paragon of virtue. He felt that Draco, of all people, was privy to the fact that Harry was deeply flawed, prone to anger and rash thinking. He didn’t like Draco thinking of them as so diametrically opposed on the spectrum of good versus bad. 

Draco stared down at the edge of the stream, one foot propped on the rock in front of him. “I think I've shown the extent to which mine would waver.” He paused, then added as if it took him some effort, “And what I'm capable of doing.”

Harry blinked, first in confusion and then in understanding. He worried at his lower lip, moving to sit down too and pull his boot on, for no reason other than to give him something to do with his hands. He knew what Draco was referring to, knew why Draco always offered his hands with his inner arms facing down, always wore long sleeves. The Mark was scarred onto his arm, faded and pink but there all the same. Harry focussed on roughly pulling his socks on his feet, on jamming his boots on. 

“Everyone wavers at times,” he croaked, unable to think of anything else to say. 

Draco laughed, dry and devoid of humour. “Not to the extreme which I did, Potter,” he snapped, but the anger didn't sound directed at Harry. “Not everyone...” Draco took a breath, moving back closer to the stream. “A lot of people wouldn't do what I ―” he stopped again, unable to continue. 

Harry kept his focus on methodically pulling on his boots. 

He thought of the astronomy tower. Again, of the Mark on Draco’s arm. He thought of Draco's family, his parents, their ideologies and what they raised him to believe. He thought about Sirius, about Regulus, about what it must be like for each person to grow up with these poisonous old views, these archaic families. He thought about how each person must try and escape that in a different way, or let it swallow them ― and how each of them never escaped them entirely, not really. He glanced at Draco. He was still staring at the ground, his arms protectively folded around his waist and his eyes shining with emotion. 

Harry licked his lips, then cleared his throat. He stood, jaw set as he began to speak. 

“If we’re going with your compass metaphor, Malfoy. Draco,” Harry amended. “I'd say then, yes. You wavered more than some, more than others might have.” Draco dropped his head, his hair covering his face. Harry took a breath, determined to continue past the odd lump in his throat, the tightness in his chest. He hated talking about this stuff, but he knew it was important, that he had to keep doing it when it came up; otherwise, things would fester. Misunderstandings would grow. Harry didn’t really want that between them. Not anymore. “Maybe more than some people,” he repeated, “but I’d say that sometimes, in some cases,” Harry wiped his sweating palms on his trousers. “Some people have more weight on them than others, things that push on them, tell them what they should be doing.” Harry waited until Draco lifted his head to look at him, his expression confused, alarmed. “If someone's family were being threatened,” Harry said quietly, seeing Draco’s brows knit together further. “How does that person know where to steer the compass, which way is the right way.” Harry swallowed, Draco’s eyes boring a hole into his own. “What the right thing to do is.”

“You always did the right thing,” Draco muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t tell me you had less weight on you than,” he licked his lips, looking away, “than your hypothetical someone, here,” he mumbled. 

Harry dug the heel of his boot into the ground. “It’s easier to sacrifice yourself than the people you love,” he replied after a few further, harsh digs of his heel into the hard dirt. 

Draco waited a moment then laughed, a surprised and choked sound. “That’s very nihilistic of you,” he croaked, his voice a little hoarse. 

Harry smiled dryly, looking up at Draco from under his fringe. He adjusted his glasses. “Yeah, that’s me.” He sighed, walking towards his rucksack, Draco’s eyes on him the whole time. _I died to save the people, the world, I loved,_ Harry thought queasily. _Don’t ask me what I would have done if I’d been told I needed to kill for them_. Harry didn’t want to think about this anymore, or at all. 

“I’m sorry I insisted you have a go at being the caster,” Harry mumbled, feeling strange after the conversation, seeking for any way for it to end. When he meant was, _I’m sorry this came up_ , but he didn’t want to say that, to antagonise this into something else. 

He started when he felt Draco's hands against his shoulders, and Harry turned to see Draco holding his rucksack, hands underneath the straps and ready to help it onto Harry’s back. 

“Oh, cheers,” Harry muttered, turning away. He moved his arms, slipping them through the straps. Once done, Draco smoothed his hands over them, letting his fingers brush over the back of Harry’s neck for a moment. The touch lingered, sending goosebumps down Harry’s back, before Draco moved away completely. 

“It was nice of you to offer,” Draco said so quietly Harry almost didn’t catch it, heaving his rucksack onto his own shoulders. 

“You’re welcome,” Harry replied, rubbing his hand over the spot where Draco’s fingers had just been. Draco nodded, turning and heading past the stones, waiting to make sure Harry was following. 

“It’s perhaps fitting that I should be the conduit,” Draco offered after a moment, as they left the clearing. 

“Oh?” Harry inquired, still feeling a lingering sense of disquiet. He looked towards the sky, taking an odd sense of comfort from the sight of the dark ravens ― four, now, or maybe five ― still circling above them. 

“The conduits were, from what I’ve read, those who were deemed of lower status than the prime wizards,” Draco told Harry as they kept a slow and measured pace. Harry’s head whipped back down so he could regard Draco. 

“Lower status?” he asked sharply, before he puffed a unimpressed laugh. “You mean blood status.” 

Draco looked at him sideways, then nodded, looking as though he was regretting this idea as a change of subject. 

Harry sniffed. “I guess prejudice in that sense has existed a long time, huh?”

“Yes,” Draco said, stonily. “It has. And it probably will continue to do so. Some things run deep.” 

“Do you still think like that?” Harry asked before he could help it. 

Draco sighed, running a hand over his cheeks and then his mouth. 

“Lets not talk about this, Harry,” he said, his voice resigned, his brow furrowed with worry. 

Harry stopped in his tracks. “Wait, _do_ you?”

“Haven’t we discussed enough unpleasant things for one day?” Draco said. He looked like he was aiming for stern and disinterested, but it came out as imploring. 

Harry felt an odd stab of panic. “Just answer the question,” he insisted, raising his voice. 

“Harry ―”

“Just answer it!” Harry almost shouted, the need to know what exactly it was Draco didn’t want to say making his blood thump in his ears. 

“I try not to!” Draco shouted back. He swallowed, looking away as Harry’s eyes widened. 

Harry’d not been expecting that reply. “What does that mean?” he croaked. 

“It means what it sounds like.” Draco raised his arms, then dropped them again in exasperation. “I try not to, all right? I remind myself not to.”

“But you still do,” Harry repeated, an almost numbing panic building inside him. 

“No. Yes. Sometimes, all right?” Draco shook his head in frustration. “I grew up with that, all around me. You said I came out the womb with a wand in my hand, well that came second. This came first, this idea about purity, about status, about being better because who and what we were.” Draco held Harry’s gaze, his jaw set but his expression still more imploring than angry. Harry couldn’t even imagine what expression was on his own face. 

“But it’s wrong,” Harry said hoarsely. “It’s not true.”

“I know!” Draco rubbed his hand over his jaw. “I know that now, but that doesn't change the fact that I spent the first sixteen years of my life believing it was a fact! Not an idea, or a concept, a _fact_ ,” he repeated emphatically, stepping closer to Harry. “Something that I was told was true, by everyone around me, and which I believed to be, unequivocally, real. I know it's not now, though, but even so. In my head, sometimes, it’s like a knee-jerk reaction before I think, it’s.” Draco’s mouth worked as if he was going to say more, before he instead turned on his heel, growling in frustration ― at himself, at this topic. “And I said we shouldn't talk about this!” he spat angrily, starting to walk away again, as quickly as he could. His boots crunched against the ground as he strode off. 

Harry stared, rooted to the spot somehow, at the back of Draco’s head. He blinked at Draco’s receding figure, feeling somewhat hollow inside, and yet, at the same time, something else. Appalled, at first, that Draco could even have a moment of lingering prejudice when it came to those from Muggleborn families, but underneath that, Harry found it made a kind of sense. He doubted it would be easy to shrug off something he’d believed to be a fact for most of his life, like the people in cults in the awful television programmes his aunt had watched when he was younger and which Harry had secretly watched, too, from the keyhole of the closed door. Their beliefs sounded ridiculous to Harry, mad and wrong and impossible, and surely any sensible person would see it was stupid to hold onto them. But Harry knew that wasn’t how beliefs worked. They were insidious, for good or bad; they got inside you, and clung, their excision hard-fought and won.

Harry hurried to reach Draco. He walked beside him for a while, saying nothing as he continued to try and gather his thoughts, to figure out where exactly in the middle ground he found himself, before suddenly he blurted, 

“I don't trust Slytherins.”

“What?” Draco snapped, stopping. His face was pale, his cheeks mottled with angry patches of colour. Harry slipped his hands underneath the straps of his rucksack, his own face cold from the wind. 

“I don't like Slytherins,” he repeated, with determination. “When I hear someone was in that house, it. It changes my perception of them. And then I have to,” Harry made a gesture towards his temple, spinning his fingers. “Remind myself that an entire house of people aren't defined by this notion of simple good and bad, that people aren't like that. That there’s grey, and. And people from other houses have done just as many shitty things. I mean,” Harry makes a miserable face, “I wouldn't be an orphan if it wasn't for that. If it wasn't for Peter Pettigrew, and he was in Gryffindor.” He sniffs, looking at Draco wryly. “And we’re the good guys, right?” he asked, trying to joke in a strange and desperate way, to drag them both back onto safer ground. Harry could almost have laughed with relief when Draco’s lips tilted up, ever so slightly. It wasn’t a smile, but it was something, and Harry ploughed on. “And I wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for Snape, and he was a Slytherin. And Regulus, too,” Harry mumbled. “But still, when I hear that's the house someone was in I think,” Harry clicked his fingers. “Don't trust them. Keep an eye on them. Like a,” he gestured at Draco, “like you said, a knee-jerk reaction. Then I have to remind myself that's wrong.” He swallowed, looking down and then back at Draco. “Is it. Is that what it's like for you?” Harry shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Is that what you meant?”

Draco stared at him, saying nothing. Slowly, he nodded. “It's like a habit,” he muttered. “That I'm trying to unlearn,” he continued tentatively. “Blood status has always. I’ve always been told it was important. That there was a hierarchy. That a pure-blood is better than a Muggleborn, that Muggles are...” Draco stopped, then shrugged, shoulders tight. “I know it's bullshit. I _know_ it. But it's just this stupid belief that's lodged here.” He tapped the base of his chest, between his ribs. “That's stuck here. It's hard to get rid of. But I remind myself, constantly,” he said, forcefully. 

Harry nodded. “That's what counts,” he said with confidence. 

Draco was silent, for a moment, looking as if he was about to disagree, before he pressed his lips together then nodded too.

Above them, a raven cawed, the outline of the mountains stark against the sky. 

“Is this why we don't talk about this stuff?” Harry asked quietly. He carefully watched Draco’s face, trying to read his expression. 

“Because you think Slytherins are all bent, and I'm still dealing with my lingering, old-world prejudices?” Draco answered softly, his eyes sharp but not unkind. 

Harry laughed a little. “Yeah.” He pulled at the corner of his lip with his teeth. “For what it’s worth, this conversation.” Harry pushed his hair behind his ear. “It wasn’t actually that bad. Not as bad as I thought it would be, anyway.”

Draco raised his brows, then slowly nodded. The wind was picking up around them, whipping the strands of hair which had escaped his bun around his face, before he tucked them away with long fingers. 

Draco sighed, then smiled, open and genuine; Harry clung to the sight of it. 

“There’s a blueberry patch up ahead, I think,” Draco said, pointing at the plateau near them. “Wild blueberries.” Draco’s smile didn’t get wider, just stayed in place, but it seemed significant to Harry all the same. “It’ll be a nice change of scenery, don’t you think?” he said softly, and Harry felt that he was talking about more than just the change in the view. 

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. He took a step closer, then brushed his fingers against Draco’s elbow, let them rest there. “Yeah, lead the way,” he said, slowly allowing his hand drop back to his side. 

Side by side, they returned to the path.

~*~

They reached their second marker just as the sun was setting.

It was later than expected but not late enough to be any real concern, and Harry found that while he was tired and desperate for a rest, he wasn’t exactly upset about the delay. He’d never been a fan of blueberries, not really ― they were always either too sour or too dull when he bought them ― but he’d liked them with Draco. He wasn’t sure if it was the pleasantness of picking his own berries, of weaving through the white flowers and feeling the sun on the back of his bare neck, just sharp enough to sting but not enough to really hurt, or if it was simply the company, the stories Draco told him as they walked the remaining miles of their hike. 

Harry liked listening to Draco talk. 

It was confusing, Harry had thought as he watched Draco’s face slowly become more animate again, telling Harry stories about picking wild berries with his Nurse-elf, and getting roaringly told off by his father for eating half of them on the way home. Harry’d laughed at the image of that, of six-year-old Draco with purple-red fingers and lips, half a basket of raspberries and blackberries gone and smeared down his crisp, blue robes. And then staring wide-eyed and blushing as his father told him off ― for spoiling his dinner, for uncouth behaviour, for besmirching the Malfoy name by getting blackberry juice on the Malfoy heir’s distinctively pale chin. It was funny, at first, but then the image had twisted in Harry’s mind, and Draco wasn’t just wide-eyed and cheeky, but frightened, as Lucius loomed over him, imposing and furious. 

_Spare the rod, and spoil the child_ , Uncle Vernon had said once. He’d never hit Harry, perhaps scared from the start of Harry might be capable of doing, but he’d shaken him once, hard and sudden. Hands on the front of his shirt, lips twisting in anger and face mottled and purple, his uncle had shaken him as hard as his could, Harry’s head snapping back and feet slipping on the polished linoleum of the kitchen floor. It was terrifying, frustrating, anger mingling with fear and making Harry almost nauseous, white with frightened fury. Harry wondered if Lucius, Narcissa, ever did something similar to Draco. He couldn't imagine them laying a hand on him, but he knew that wasn’t the only way, or even the deepest way, to leave a mark on someone.

More and more he felt that they had things in common, threads that tied them together as much as Harry imagined Per’s bond was linking their magic. Family, friends, ambition, loneliness. Harry’s boots crunched on the hard ground and scattered pebbles as he swayed a little closer to Draco with each step, letting their shoulders bump as Draco had blithely told another story about trying to lure a duck home with him once, to join the swans at Malfoy manor. 

“I always wanted a duck,” Draco’d said, offering his handful of dark berries to Harry. “Swans are beautiful, but bloody bad-tempered. Can’t pat a swan, I’ll tell you that much,” he’d added as Harry laughed, shoulders knocking against Draco’s and fingers brushing his palm as he took the offered blueberries. 

It had been a fitting end to a strange and exhausting day. 

Now, at the marker, they set the tent up in what Harry felt was almost record time, given that both of them were so tired, physically and emotionally drained from their day. Harry didn’t feel bad, nor tense, simply completely and utterly knackered, as he helped Draco unpack their rucksacks and dig up some food. Draco looked even more tired than him, somehow, purple bruises under his eyes, his hair carelessly tumbling out of his bun. It was more loose than pulled back, at this point, falling over his eyes and cheeks as Draco yawned into the back of his hand, then smiled and threw a small bar of chocolate at Harry. Harry’d never been happier to see an item of food in his life, he thought, as they shared the bar. 

Dinner was, again, something bland and dismal from a packet. Harry found he didn’t even mind, his stomach growling from the exertion of the steep walk and his feet aching. He was immeasurably glad for the blisterprooing charm he’d used on his shoes before they came here; while his feet were still feeling the burn from walking so many miles in the last two days, at least his boots weren’t rubbing painfully. 

They set up the bedding in mostly companionable silence, although Harry did still feel a little unsettled ― from the land magic, and the discussion that had followed. He wanted his bed suddenly, and not to be out in the wilderness. Draco looked like he felt the same, as they quickly dressed in their nightclothes, easing their tired bodies under the sleeping bags. Harry turned onto his side, facing away from Draco and meaning to wish him goodnight, or to say something else to wrap up this mad day, but Harry could barely keep his eyes open. 

He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the makeshift pillow, Draco’s knees almost close enough to touch Harry’s legs and his breathing soft and even.

~*~

Harry was in the forest.

It was cold, and familiar, as he stood on the edge of the water and stared down at the shape of the sword on the bottom. There was a glimmer of movement in the corner of his eye, a deer, a stag, and he watched it closely, listening to the chattering of the birds in the trees around them. Black shapes swooped around him in the dark sky, wings outstretched and silver eyes sharp. 

_I need that_ , a voice whispered to Harry as he looked at the sword, and Harry nodded reluctantly. He didn't want to get it, to go into the dark, cold water, but he knew he didn’t have a choice. He trusted the voice, and Harry was good at doing what he was told.

The water was freezing as he dove in, the sword heavy and bitingly cold in his grip. He struggled back to the surface, lugging the metal, but panicked when he reached the water level. Ice, thick and blanketing the lake. Harry ran his fingers over it, blind with panic, as he searched for an opening, for anything, but there were no cracks in the ice, no way to get back out. _Nothing._

_I’m sorry, Harry._

Above him, Harry heard a soft sound, an insistent tapping. Louder it grew, and harder, persistent, until Harry saw the shapes of the birds, dark ravens, swooping at the ice. Their beaks chipped at it, leaving dents in the solid, frozen covering and Harry almost cheered. _Almost_. but it wasn’t enough, the ice was too thick, too solid. The birds would never get to him in time. 

The sword, Harry quickly thought, struggling to keep his mouth shut, to keep the icy water out and the scant air in his lungs. It was heavy, cumbersome as he thrust it through the ice, carving a jagged hole. He slipped one hand through, desperate to pull himself free, when he felt the soft slide of fingers into his hair, of another hand gripping his wrist. 

Harry took a grateful gulp of air, head just above the water and familiar half-moon spectacles just visible — before he was submerged again. 

“Harry?”

The fingers in Harry’s hair were suddenly tight, painful, as the hand shoved him down underneath the water. 

“Harry, s’happening? Fuck, what’s that sound, wha — Harry, wake up!”

He thought it was trying to help him at first, the half-moon glasses just visible through the watery gloss. But it wasn’t, Harry thought, curling his body so he could kick at the ice, fingers clawing at the hand on his hair, holding him down. 

_I’m so sorry, Harry._

The voice was gentle, soothing, deep with sorrow and Harry couldn’t breathe. He gasped for air, icy water filling his lungs, his chest, as his toes scrabbled at the ice. Harry couldn’t breathe — 

“Potter, Harry, it’s okay, it’s — just wake up!” 

— his lungs stung, the water cold and sharp and the fingers wrenching his hair, his shirt. His skin was turning clammy and blue as he beat at the ice with his fists, his knees — 

_I’m so sorry, my boy._

“Harry, for fuck’s sake —!”

Harry gasped, high and desperate as he opened his eyes, then slammed them shut again. He couldn’t breathe, the room around him coming back to him as the dream faded away, slow and heavy like molasses, but he still couldn’t fucking _breathe_. 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay.” Cool hands smoothed the hair away from Harry’s forehead, before he swatted them away, terrified and irrational still; he didn’t want hands near his hair, the blind panic of the dream still gripping him.

“Hey, okay, sit up.” Harry felt hands on his shoulders, helping him sit upright. He struggled to cooperate, the voice familiar and comforting even as his breath wheezed out of him, not enough air getting into his lungs. 

“Sit up. You’ll be all right. You need to breathe properly, though,” the voice said, soft and without reprimand. A hand rubbed at his back, smooth, firm strokes between his shoulder blades. Harry’s eyelids fluttered, as he dizzily choked down air, each breath a laboured wheeze. 

Draco kept rubbing his back, the contact soothing and slow. 

“You’re fine,” Draco said, his voice close to Harry’s ear as Harry struggled to get air into his lungs, to breathe it out again. His head was swimming, his skin covered in a sheen of cold sweat. He could hear himself gasping. “You’re fine, Harry,” Draco repeated. “Tell me you’re fine.”

“I can’t ―” Another shaking breath, as Harry rested his weight on his clenched hands, blinked up at the roof of the tent. “I can’t breathe.”

“You can.” Draco moved his other hand to Harry’s shoulder, the other still rubbing over his back as Draco smoothed his other fingers over Harry's sternum. Harry leaned into it, the bracket of Draco’s arms almost an embrace. He let his head fall forwards, his hair over his eyes. 

“You’re fine,” Draco said again, breath gusting over Harry’s cheek, his ear. “Tell me you’re fine, Harry.”

Harry sucked in another breath, ending in a strangled laugh. 

“Is that how panic attacks work, now?” he struggled to say around the tightness in his throat, his chest. Draco hummed, splaying his fingers on Harry’s chest. 

“Yes,” he whispered, lips curving into a smile. “Tell me you're fine,” Draco continued, “and you will be.”

Harry laughed again, wheezing against Draco’s shoulder. “I don’t think that’s how it works, Draco,” he rumbled, the material of Draco’s jumper catching on his mouth. 

“Tell me you’re fine ―”

“Draco.”

“― and you will be.”

Harry swallowed, with some effort. He nodded, his hair catching on the stubble of Draco’s jaw; both of them needed a shave, after two days camping and using rudimentary wandless shaving charms.

“I’m fine,” he croaked, when he felt more under control, the consuming fear having subsided somewhat and his heart beating less frantically. “I’m fine.”

“Good.” Draco’s lips brushed his cheek, and Harry leant into it, before Draco slowly let the hand on Harry’s chest fall away. Harry immediately missed the contact.

“Are you asthmatic?” Draco asked abruptly, as Harry sat up a little straighter. 

Harry blinked in confusion, looking at Draco properly for the first time. His hair was tousled, sleep messy, his grey eyes concerned. The tent was dimly lit, the charmed roof emanating a soft, yellow light. Just enough to make out Draco’s features, his eyes, but not enough to make Harry exposed. At least, not any more exposed than he already was. Harry was glad of that. 

“Asthmatic,” repeated Draco, watching Harry closely. Draco’s cheeks were pink, his face slightly flushed. “I didn’t think you were, but I thought I ought to check. You know. Not being able to breathe, and all,” Draco finished, a little stiffly. 

Harry shook his head and Draco nodded, tucking his hair behind his ear with his free hand. His left hand remained on Harry’s back, rubbing in circular motions. The movement bunched Harry’s t-shirt up, his skin hot and clammy underneath the thin material. Harry frowned, the cold hitting his exposed arm, as he suddenly became aware that he had somehow taken his jumper half-off in his sleep, the thick material still around his neck, his other arm still in the sleeve. 

“You were trying to take it off,” Draco explained softly, then made a gesture at his own throat, then Harry’s. “I think it was choking you.”

 _The icy water filled his lungs, stinging and sharp. He couldn't breathe_. 

Harry sighed in understanding. He nodded slightly, embarrassment slipping in to take the place of fear as the panic ebbed away. He touched the neck of the material, then slipped his hand out of it, noticing a twinge of pain from a scratch on his neck as he did so. He made a face. 

_Fucking nightmares_ , Harry thought wryly, his face hot and miserable. Of all the times, of all the places, to have one. Then again, in a way it made sense this would happen here, in a tent in a quiet clearing, far away from the world. It didn’t remind Harry of the Forest of Dean, but he suspected it didn’t have to; his subconscious remembered. Harry dropped his jumper onto the end of their makeshift bed. He knew he’d be cold soon enough, would miss the extra layers, but he felt smothered by the material for some reason. He was grateful for the slight chill on his bare arms. It was grounding, the real discomfort a welcome reminder that the perceived threat in his mind wasn’t really there. Not anymore, at least. The forest, Horcruxes, glimmering swords under icy water ― they were all long gone. Harry hoped in time the memory of them would dull, too. 

Harry chanced a look at Draco, who was still watching him cautiously. 

“Sorry,” Harry said, voice cracking a little. He cleared his throat, still slightly out of breath. “Did I kick you, or shout, or…” he trailed off as Draco shook his head. 

“No,” Draco said wryly. “You were completely silent, really.” 

Harry frowned. “How did you wake up, then?”

Draco laughed once, low and deep. He leaned closer to Harry, then moved one finger in a circular motion around his ear. He smiled as Harry struggled to understand what Draco was referring to, starting when Draco moved, holding his hands out in front of him, palms down. He raised one eyebrow when Harry still didn't get it. 

“You were in danger,” he said quietly. 

“No, I wasn’t though,” Harry replied. He didn’t add, _I was dreaming I was stuck under ice, being drowned by a trusted parental figure, because my jumper apparently got caught around my neck and I panicked_. Whatever it was, it wasn’t real. “It was a dream. I wasn’t in danger.”

“You thought you were, though. Your body did, at least.”

Harry blinked, then opened his mouth in disbelief. 

“The _bond_ woke you up?”

Draco nodded, lips twisted wryly. He let his hands drop back down to his lap. “Rather adamantly, too.”

“What, it.” Harry licked his lips. “How?”

Draco shrugged, lying back on one elbow. “Like a fucking klaxon going off in my ear,” he said, smiling lopsidedly. 

Harry shook his head, laughing a little as he lay down on his back. “It was just a dream,” he repeated incredulously, staring upwards. “A bad one, but.” Harry cleared his throat again, cutting himself off. He was quiet for a moment before he added, “Nothing the bond should have worried about.”

“I’ll be sure to let Per know.” Draco lay on his side, the sleeping bags rustling around him. 

Harry turned to look at him, smiling. “Write him a posh letter of complaint, will you?”

Draco ran his tongue over his teeth, pressed it into his cheek. “A strongly worded one, yes,” he replied softly, eyes crinkling with humour. 

They were quiet for a moment, the soft light of the room making Harry feel calm, if not quite sleepy; there was still too much residual adrenaline in his body for that. Draco shuffled a little closer, pausing a moment with his hand outstretched before he rearranged the sleeping bag around them, covering Harry up to the waist. Harry made a soft sound of thanks, laying his arms over the top of the sleeping bag. He sighed heavily. 

“You’re going to be cold,” Draco said quietly, fingers almost touching Harry’s bare arm, the crook of his elbow, as he watched Harry carefully. Harry shook his head. 

“Cold doesn’t bother me,” he began, stopping when Draco slipped his hand around Harry’s arm, then started slowly urging him onto his side. Harry stiffened, confused and his heart now beginning to race for another reason. “What’re you ―” 

Draco slipped his arm around Harry’s waist, his front pressed against Harry’s back. 

“It’s called a hug, Potter,” Draco muttered. “It’s when you squeeze someone else with your arms, or body ―”

“I know what a hug is,” Harry interrupted, laughing as he looked over his shoulder at the top of Draco’s head. 

“Good. I wondered if perhaps Muggles had a different name for it.” Draco sniffed, his voice a little defensive, but riddled with humour. “A squish, or a constrict, even.”

“A _constrict_?”

“Far be it for me to judge the language of another culture, Potter.”

“You fucking liar.” Harry grinned, feeling Draco’s forehead press against his back, his breath warm against Harry’s thin t-shirt as he laughed. 

Harry arched his back, pressing his lips together and trying to keep his smile down. He still felt wired, strange, and like sleep was far away, but Draco’s presence was impossibly comforting. Harry had no doubt that his surreal nightmare — not the first he’d had and unlikely to be the last — was a result of the conversation he’d had with Draco that day, the things it had stirred up. It didn’t feel bad though, not with Draco’s arms around him, his breath tickling over Harry’s neck. As confusing as liking Draco was, Harry found a consistent and odd comfort in his presence even when things between them veered into murky, grey waters. Harry sighed, then wriggled back into the embrace, pulling the sleeping bag higher over both their shoulders. Draco tightened his arms around Harry’s waist in response, pressing closer. 

The room slipped into darkness as Draco clicked his fingers once, then lay his arm back around Harry. He lay still as if returning to sleep, and Harry pretended to do the same. 

Harry worried his lip as he tried to contemplate sleep, but his mind was racing. Harry was incredibly aware that this was the same position they were in this morning, only reversed; Draco’s knees were now pressed into the bend of Harry’s, his chest against Harry's back, lips near the sensitive nape his neck. 

His groin against Harry’s arse. 

Harry pulled his lower lip between his teeth, eyes slipping closed. He should sleep, he thought. He was unaware of what time it even was, and they had a lot of walking to get done tomorrow. The penultimate leg of their trip would be the steepest one yet. But Draco’s body was warm and firm behind him, his breathing slow and even but not so much — Harry recognised now — that it indicated Draco was asleep. Draco made a soft noise, arms tightening a little, and Harry impulsively pressed backwards, his arse against Draco’s groin. 

Draco stilled and reactively, so did Harry. 

“Harry.” Draco swallowed audibly, his voice low. “That’s not. Um. This isn't why I did this,” he mumbled, then added, “We don’t have to —”

“Can we, though?” Harry breathed out, cheek scratching against the material beneath him. “Can we, um, do.” Harry stopped, unsure what to ask for. He was out of his depth, but Draco felt good against him, and he wanted more of that. 

Behind him, Draco relaxed a little. His knees slipped back into the crook of Harry’s, one foot between Harry’s ankles. 

“Do what, Harry?” Draco asked in a low tone. 

Harry huffed a laugh, fingers slipping back to tentatively to rest on Draco’s hip. “I don’t know,” he said honestly, pushing back a little against Draco’s groin. He bit his lip when he felt the unmistakeable shape of Draco’s growing erection there. Draco made a soft sound, face pressed against Harry’s neck as he seemed to weigh his options, to think. 

Slowly, he ground forwards against Harry’s arse, his hardening prick warm even through his pyjama bottoms. Harry sighed loudly in relief, his own cock thickening in response. 

“We can do this,” Draco whispered, sitting up a little to run his lips around the shell of Harry’s ear. He brushed the hair away, then did it again, his lips soft and his breath warm as he trailed his fingers over Harry’s sternum, down to his belly. He rested them on the hem of Harry’s pants. 

“Yes,” Harry mumbled, the sound slightly muffled by the material of his pillow. He gasped, slightly too loud when Draco slid his hand lower, grinding forwards at the same time as he cupped Harry’s erection. 

“Oh, fu —” Harry swallowed the sound. 

“I like this,” Draco said, rolling his hips. Harry nodded, spreading his legs a little wider and arching his back, his neck, as he felt dizzying rush after rush of pleasure through him; his cock was fully hard now and the feeling of another person’s hand on it was entirely new, and entirely fucking fantastic. Harry pushed back again harder, Draco groaning into his hair as they set an easy rhythm between them, Harry rocking back against Draco’s groin, his cock against his arse, and Draco’s fingers softly squeezing him with his fingers, thumb resting just at the top of his balls. 

“I like this, too,” Harry said breathily, voice barely louder than the rustle of the sleeping bags around him, than his own breathing. His breath hitched even louder when Draco kissed the side of his jaw, just below his ear. 

“We can do more,” Draco said, his voice a low rumble. “If you want to.”

“Yes,” Harry agreed, pushing up into Draco’s hand, in a slow hard grind. “Fuck, yes, I want more.” 

Harry’s face flushed, embarrassment trying to take root ― at being so apparently easy, at not knowing what exactly ‘more’ entailed ― but he pushed it away. He couldn’t be bothered dealing with that right now; it seemed an enormous waste of the scant amount of brainpower Harry felt he had left, given that Draco’s hand was now toying with the waistband of his underwear. 

“Let me.” Draco pulled at the hem of Harry’s pants, easing them down, and Harry rushed to help him, instinct overtaking caution. Of all the new sensations running through Harry’s body, at least that wasn’t a new one. Together, they slipped Draco’s pyjama bottoms and pants down too, until the were both naked from the waist down, trousers around their thighs. Harry’s prick was hard, leaking, as he brushed his hair away from his own sweaty forehead, Draco’s knuckles brushing against his back as he ran them down his spine then reach between his own legs to grip his cock. 

Harry gasped when it touched his arse. 

Draco’s cock was hot — so _hot_ — smooth and wet at the head as Draco sucked in a breath, then positioned it at the top of Harry’s thigh. Harry’s own prick twitched eagerly in response. 

“Fuck,” Harry muttered, a sliver of reality bleeding through the fog of arousal in his mind. 

“We can stop,” Draco said breathily, hips inching backwards and away from from Harry. “Or go back to what we were doing, the way we were doing it,” he mumbled quickly, one hand at the hem of Harry’s pants, ready to pull them back up. Harry shook his head quickly, fingers over Draco’s. 

Draco’s _cock_ was against his bare skin, their pants around their thighs. It felt more real than what they’d done that morning, the heated touch of bare skin-on-skin electrifying and slightly terrifying. This was sex, as much as Harry knew what that was, and with a man ― with _Draco_. Harry’d never spent a lot of time thinking about what he’d end up doing with his virginity, but he had to confess he had vague ideas in his head still that it would be with a woman, even though he was aware he was more than attracted to both. The abstract of his mind, it seemed, always clung to the idea he’d grown up with, about what virginities were and how one lost them: a boy and a girl, a bed with white sheets, nervousness and discomfort and fumbling. That was what Harry’d picked up from the scant media influences in his life, from the bawdy talk of the boys in the dorm with him, from Ron and his brothers. Even when he realised he would be as interested in seeing a man as a woman, those ideas still shaped what Harry’d been expecting. 

This wasn’t like that ― Draco wasn’t like that, and somehow, that was making Harry even more excited, the reality obliterating the idea of it in his head. He pushed back against Draco harder, felt the line of his cock press between his cheeks, heard Draco hiss and buck against him. 

“No, like this is good,” he whispered, tilting his head slightly and rolling his hips again. “I like thi — _ah_!”

Harry bit his lower lip as he rocked his own hips again, Draco’s fingers skating over his bare cock. Harry’s breath hitched, a gasp ending on a soft moan as his hips jerked forward convulsively, against Draco’s now splayed palm. He gasped again, breath warm against the material of the makeshift pillow. 

“You’re louder than I thought you would be,” Draco said softly, his breathing uneven as he rolled his hips. His cock was hot as it pressed against Harry’s arse, damp at the tip as it touched Harry's skin. 

“Fuck,” Harry muttered shakily, heart racing at the idea of Draco having thought about this before, before he choked out a laugh. “Is that bad?” 

“No,” Draco replied emphatically. “Just unexpected.” He kissed Harry’s jaw again, then his nape, and he smoothed his hand down over Harry’s thigh, let his fingers curl over the inside of it. He began to lift Harry’s leg, still rocking against him, Harry still curving his hips back against Draco’s groin. 

Draco pressed closer, his other arm slipping under Harry’s neck, fingers at his collarbone. Harry turned his face into it, kissing whatever of Draco’s skin he could reach as Draco tipped him a little farther forwards. He began to press his cock between Harry’s legs. 

“Fuck.” Harry breathed out harshly, instinctively stiffening a little at the new contact. 

“Tell me to stop,” Draco said against Harry’s skin, running the heel of his palm over Harry’s jumping cock. “If this is ―”

“No, good, good.” Harry nodded frantically, lifting his leg a little and trying not to moan. This was nothing, really, nothing to get so excited about, but Harry felt hot over his entire body, muscles tense and cock leaking against Draco’s hand. Harry gave into it and groaned at the loss when Draco pulled his hand away. 

“This will make it better,” Draco responded, breathing hard, and Harry stifled another moan. It was comforting to know that he wasn’t the only one getting as worked up about what could ostensibly be called so little; to Harry it felt like everything. 

Draco pulled back to whisper something, a spell Harry didn’t recognise. Draco’s knuckles bumped against Harry’s spine, the small of his back, as he slicked up his own cock with the wandlessly conjured lube. Harry held his breath in anticipation, then let it out shakily as he reminded himself to breathe. 

“Let me, like this.” Draco pushed his cock back between Harry’s thighs, and Harry shivered. The lube made the slide of Draco’s prick between his legs easier, faster, as Draco curved his spine and thrust gently. Harry moaned, open-mouthed and embarrassingly loud when Draco did it again, Draco’s cock brushing against his balls, his hip bones flush against Harry’s arse. 

“This okay?”

“Fuck.”

“Harry, is this ―”

“Yes, _fuck_ , this is.” Harry pushed back again, pressing his lips together and swallowing down another moan. “This is, ah, good, this is ―” 

“I’m probably not going to last very― _ah_ ― long,” Draco mumbled, and Harry choked out a laugh. He’d been teetering on the edge of coming for an embarrassing amount of time as it was. He nodded frantically, the best attempt at communication he could muster, his mouth against the crook of Draco’s arm. Draco moved his other hand away from Harry’s cock, to his thigh, holding his legs together and still thrusting between them. Harry gasped, taking the cue and tightening his thighs then keening as Draco moved his hand back to Harry’s cock. He wrapped his fingers around it, slick with lube as he began to run his fist up and down Harry’s erection in quick, perfect slides. Harry ran his teeth over the soft skin of Draco’s inner arm, shutting his eyes as he felt his orgasm build. 

He'd never felt anything like this, never thought something so simple would feel so fucking _good_. Draco wasn’t inside him, his cock sliding between Harry’s thighs, and yet Harry felt on fire with the intensity or it, the intimacy. He struggled to keep quiet, to stop the hitching gasps and shallow moans as the head of Draco’s cock rubbed against his balls, then his erection as Draco thrust forward. He clenched his thighs again, gasping loudly as his balls tightened, as Draco flicked his wrist just so, and suddenly Harry was coming. 

“Oh, god, I, I’m ― ” Harry gasped again, loud and shaking as his cock pulsed in a warm rush over Draco’s fist, as Draco kissed messily over the back of his neck. Draco continued to move his fist in quick sharp movements, his own hips bucking forwards as he thrust between Harry’s legs once, twice more, then stilled, hips grinding against Harry’s arse. His breath was warm, damp, as he sucked on Harry’s neck, moaning into his skin as he came. 

“Fuck,” Harry gasped, arching his back and still pumping forwards into Draco’s lax fist, even as his cock softened, overstimulated and slick now with his own come. He ran his tongue over his lips, his fringe damp and curling over one eye annoyingly. His legs were damp with a light sheen of sweat, Draco’s cock softening between his thighs and his come over Harry’s legs, over the sleeping bag underneath him. The sensation was odd, new, a little too much. Harry liked it, he thought, moaning a little through tightly pressed lips as Draco eased his cock out, still panting gently against the back of Harry’s neck. 

In the darkness of the tent, they fell back into silence, Draco patting the sleeping bags in search of something and Harry trying not to move too much. He was borderline unbearably sticky. It felt magnificent. 

Draco groaned, dropping back down next to Harry when he realised his search was fruitless. Harry pulled at his lip with his teeth, experimentally clenching his thighs. He wrinkled his nose at the wet feeling. 

“Were you looking for you wand?” Harry asked, voice barely above a whisper for some reason. Draco laughed, soft and mostly quiet. 

“Shut up,” he said throatily. “I forgot.” His voice was rough, a little hoarse, and his fingers still warm as he pressed them on the bare side of Harry’s hip, then muttered a wandless cleaning spell. Harry sighed at the sensation, his legs and hand now clean. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, pulling at his lower lip again with his teeth. He could feel his cheeks pulling into a smile, his face and neck reddening. 

“You’re welcome,” Draco replied slightly stiffly, and Harry shook his head. He wasn’t sure what it was, the formality of the conversation combined with the strangeness of having sex here, of all places ― the time, the place, the _company ―_ but Harry suddenly felt like laughing. His shoulders shook with it, mouth tightly pursed as he slipped one hand over it, trying to muffle the stupid sound that wanted to burst out of him. 

Behind him, Draco stilled, before brushing his hair away from his face and peering over at Harry’s face. 

“What on earth,” Draco asked, resting up on his elbows and lifting his hips as he pulled his pants and then pyjamas back up, “could possibly be fucking funny right now, Potter?” he snapped, but there was no real bite in it. Draco’s voice sounded tired, sleepy, his voice thick and warm and friendly. Harry’s stomach was starting to hurt slightly from trying to keep his laughter silent. 

“You _are_ bloody laughing!” Draco said accusingly, peering over Harry’s shoulder at his reddening face. “What are you laughing at?”

“So ― Sorry. Fuck.” 

“What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing, it’s not ―” Harry struggled to say around his gusts of laughter

“ ― because it may surprise you to know that people don’t often giggle at me after sex.” 

“Oh, fucking hell.” Harry ran one hand over his stomach, the muscles taut and sore as his body shook. His face was stiff from grinning, the expression almost involuntary, as Draco turned him and roughly pulled him onto his back. 

Harry looked up at Draco’s wide grey eyes, his bemused expression. He looked like he was starting to smile against his will, too. 

“What is funny?” he growled, face inches from Harry’s. Harry licked his lips, shrugging his shoulders as he tried to put words to why exactly he was laughing. 

“I think I just lost my virginity,” he blurted. 

“You wha ― Oh.”

Draco blinked in surprise, before his eyes widened to almost comical proportions as his hand dropped to Harry’s chest. Whatever he had been expecting Harry to reply with as the rationale behind his absurd laughing fit, it wasn’t that. Draco said nothing for a long moment, his cheeks slowly flushing a soft pink. His mouth twisted as he seemed to be either trying to banish the smile from it, or think of something to say. Harry could relate. 

“Well. Congratulations,” Draco mumbled finally, and Harry barked another loud laugh, dropping one hand over his own forehead. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring any champagne,” Draco added, the laughter evident in his own voice now. 

“Jesus,” Harry muttered as he ran his hand over his mouth. “I don’t like champagne,” he said through his fingers, unable to think of a single other thing to respond with. 

“Prosecco, then.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, for fuck’s ―” Draco laughed himself, looking away and then back at Harry. “When we get back to London, I’ll buy you a bloody lemonade, all right?”

Harry licked his lips, then shrugged one shoulder. “Or a beer.”

“Yes, or a beer,” Draco agreed quietly. “A celebratory drink.”

Harry hummed, rubbing his cheek and wondering if perhaps he could erase the blush from it; the idea of having a drink with Draco when this training mission was done was filling his chest with a curious warmth, but Harry pushed it away. He didn’t want to think that far ahead just now, he reminded himself, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. 

“Was it not obvious?” he blurted, looking up at Draco curiously. 

“Obvious?”

“That I hadn’t, you know,” Harry elaborated with an impressive lack of clarity. Draco raised his brows in understanding, then shrugged. “I mean I don’t know if that even counts as, um, as losing it.” 

Draco looked at him evenly, then tucked a strand of hair away from his own face. “I think it’s rather up to you whether it counts or not,” he said softly. Harry waited a moment, and then nodded. He hadn’t really needed the confirmation — as far as he was concerned if he died tomorrow, he’d be ticking “Yes” in the “had sex” box of his bucket list — but he was glad to hear it all the same. 

“And not really,” Draco went on. “In regards to whether I’d noticed you hadn’t ‘ _you knowed_ ’ before. I mean I’d wondered, but.” Draco pulled back slightly, voice still a little breathless from the prior exertion as he lay back down, the two of them side by side now. Draco’s leg brushed against Harry’s still bare thigh. “One doesn’t like to pry.”

“To pry?” Harry shivered at the contact, then leant down to pull his pants up and over his hips. “Your dick was just between my legs,” he said bluntly. Draco snorted. 

“Charming, Potter.”

“Well, it was.”

“I’m very aware of that.”

Harry grinned, settling into the cocoon of the sleeping bags around them, of Draco’s body heat. “What time is it?” he asked quietly. 

“Merlin knows.” Draco yawned. “Not a sensible time for us to be awake,” he said, rolling onto his side. His forehead touched Harry’s shoulder, just barely, and Harry tilted his face, cheek brushing the top of Draco’s head. 

“Night, then,” Harry murmured. 

Draco’s fingers brushed his, little finger curling around Harry’s. Harry thought it must have been an accident, the contact a result of Draco getting comfortable, until he did it again, little finger circling and then looping around Harry’s. Harry bit his lip, heart pounding even as sleep rose up to meet him.

“Thank you,” Draco murmured, his voice muffled by the thick, insulated material of the sleeping bag. 

“For what?” Harry asked, frowning slightly.

“For telling me,” he clarified. “You didn’t have to. And you don’t need to reply to this,” Draco went on quickly. “I just wanted to say it.”

“Oh. Um.” Harry shifted against the makeshift bed, under the guise of getting comfortable. He let his knees bump against Draco’s. “Okay.” he tilted his head down closer to Draco’s once more. “This is me not replying,” he whispered. Draco laughed, silently, shoulders shifting as his warm breath gusted over Harry’s chin, and Harry smiled in return; he liked that he’d correctly read Draco’s embarrassment at saying something like this, at needing to say it anyway. Harry could relate to that, but even more so ― Harry just liked being able to read Draco. 

“Good. Now go the fuck to sleep, Harry,” Draco whispered warmly, fingers tightening around Harry’s. 

Harry grinned, then shut his eyes.

~*~


	4. Chapter 4

~*~

They woke up to pounding rain.

Harry blinked himself awake slowly, the edge of the sleeping bag tickling at his cheeks and his body warm and loose with sleep. He stretched, yawning, listening to sound of the rain as it beat against the outside of the tent. The heavy drops cast shadows against the soft, early morning light, long rivulets of water running down the sides. Harry peered up at it, craning his neck and letting his mouth fall open as he revelled in the small pleasure of being warm and dry while listening to the rain beat down above him. 

When he turned back, Draco was watching him. 

“Hey,” Harry said quietly, as Draco rubbed one eye blearily then swept his hair away from his face. 

“Good morning,” Draco replied, arching his back and sighing. “I think we slept in,” he mumbled, looking down at the thin watch around his wrist. 

“Mm. It’s raining,” Harry said, still lying on his side and watching the water run in small rivulets down the waterproof sides of their tent. Draco snorted.

“Brilliant observation,” Draco grumbled. “Merlin, walking in that is going to be hell. Wet, windy hell.” He sighed rubbing at his eyes, before looking at Harry sideways. 

“Yeah.” Harry pressed two fingers up against the side of the tent, watched the way the water ran down around them. He quickly pulled them away when he felt Draco’s hand on his stomach, curling around the elastic hem of Harry’s pants. His knuckles fit in the dip of Harry’s hip, Harry’s stomach muscles fluttering under the contact. 

“I kinda like the rain,” Harry muttered, continuing his train of thought from earlier even as Draco rubbed the backs of his fingers over his skin. 

Draco hummed as he leant up one elbow. “Not walking in it, though,” he whispered, letting his thumb trail over Harry’s hip bone. Harry swallowed, shaking his head absently. 

“No, probably not,” he said breathily, watching Draco’s mouth. Outside, the rain beat down on them harder, a branch of a tree above them sweeping over the roof of the tent as it was buffeted by the wind. Harry licked his lips, trying to think of something smart to say. _Last night was good, are we doing that again_? and _what else can we do?_ ran through his head, but he didn’t voice them. Instead he stretched the fingers of his right hand, curling them a little before he reached out. He’d always been better at doing rather than saying, after all, he thought as he brushed the backs of his fingers over the line of Draco’s cock, then again when Draco’s eyes darkened a little, his mouth parting. He wasn’t hard, not entirely, and neither was Harry, but Harry could feel the heat of him against his fingers, the shape of his cock as it thickened a little under Harry’s touch. 

Draco made a deep sound in the back of his throat, inching closer until his knees touched Harry’s. 

“Has anyone ever gone down on you before?” he mumbled, close enough for his breath to almost brush over Harry’s face. Harry swallowed, his face colouring rapidly as his hand stilled against Draco. 

“N ― no,” he stammered, stupidly, cursing his hair-trigger blush as his face and neck began to flush; it seemed to take nothing lately to set him off.

It only got worse as Draco smiled, heated and slow and still a little sleep muddled. 

“How do you feel about being really late to get started today?” Draco murmured, moving his hand to push Harry’s t-shirt up. Harry nodded, still staring at his lips. 

His eyes never left them as Draco kissed his chest, lips against the thin material of Harry’s t-shirt, then the exposed skin of his sternum as Draco lifted the t-shirt higher. His fingers trailed down over Harry’s ribcage, and Harry’s heart beat so hard inside it Harry thought Draco must be able to feel it as he kissed over the line of Harry’s stomach, down to the hair at his navel ― and then lower still. 

“Um.” Harry licked his lips, and Draco paused looking up at him through his lashes. His hair fell forward over one shoulder, just long enough to tickle at Harry’s stomach. He raised one brow expectantly at Harry. 

“How does this work, exactly?” he asked, then immediately regretted it when he saw Draco’s grin widen, white teeth flashing. It was a stupid question, but Harry stuck by it all the same; he didn't know what the etiquette of a blow job was, and he felt it might be a good idea to be at least informed before Draco’s mouth moved any lower. Draco, though, seemed to find this incredibly amusing. 

“Your dick goes in my mouth, Potter,” he replied glibly, smiling like a cat hovering above a bowl of cream. 

Harry rolled his eyes, his cheeks blaringly red now. “No, I know that bit.” He inhaled sharply as Draco kissed his stomach, sucking on the skin under his navel. “I mean the, like, the particulars,” Harry mumbled breathily, stomach twitching away as he felt the scratch of Draco's morning stubble over the soft skin, felt a thrill run through him at the sensation. 

Draco huffed a soft laugh against Harry’s belly, his fingers skating over the hem of his pants. 

“The particulars,” he flicked an amused, heated glance up at Harry, “are still that your dick goes in my mouth,” he whispered in a hot rush, smiling up at Harry as his lips traced the line of Harry’s hip bone. Harry groaned a soft laugh, frowning still.

“No, but.” He struggled up, weight resting on his elbows as he looked at Draco’s smiling face. “I don’t want to choke you, or ―”

“You’re hardly that big, Potter.” Draco’s grin widened. “‘Unlike your ego, apparently.”

“Oh, for ―” Harry flopped back down, shaking his head. “You’re such a _wanker_ ,” he said with feeling, even as he smiled at the rain rivulets still beating down the roof of the tent. He opened his mouth again, to snark at Draco, perhaps, but shut it when Draco slipped his fingers under his waistband and quickly pulled Harry’s underwear down. He rested them at the tops of Harry’s thighs, hands on the bare side of his hips, and Harry shivered slightly, not from the cold but the _exposure_. He pushed back up onto his elbows again, looking down the length of his body. 

Harry’s cock was thickening, stimulated by the prospect of what Draco was about to do, but it wasn’t fully hard. It lay against his hip, warm on his skin, and Harry wondered for one brief, stupid moment if he ought to apologise for that ― for not being hard immediately ― as if that could be construed as an insult, perhaps, or lack of interest. Draco didn’t seem insulted though, or surprised, and Harry promptly forgot whatever he was going to say when Draco licked his cock. 

“Oh.” Harry breathed out as Draco did it again, his tongue hot and slick against Harry’s prick. “That’s.” Harry cut himself off, automatically spreading his legs a little; it was only when the elastic of his pants pulled taut that he stopped himself. Draco only hummed, slipping his fingers around Harry’s cock and gripping it gently. He sucked the head into his mouth. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Harry gasped, feeling his cock getting harder, Draco’s fingers loose as they moved up and down the shaft and Draco’s mouth ― his _mouth_ ― so hot against the head. Draco swirled his tongue, looking up at Harry again. Harry’s breath hitched, his cock now fully hard as Draco sucked on the head again, cheeks hollowing before he began to move his mouth down the shaft to meet his fingers. Harry’s fingers tightened in the sleeping bag beneath him as he groaned. 

He tried to keep as still as possible, his hips fidgeting against the soft inside of the sleeping bag as his arse clenched. Draco’s fingers tightened on his skin, his hand still pumping softly as he moved his mouth in short but sure moves, his tongue stroking the underside of Harry’s cock. Harry’s legs bent, knees rising up when Draco planted his free hand on the ground, using the leverage to bob his head faster. Harry moaned from between his closed lips. 

“Fuck,” Harry muttered, eyes wide as he watched Draco move his head. His hair was still tickling at Harry's hips, falling into Draco’s face and Draco groaned in irritation, swatting at it, and then again when it fell right back, catching on the stubble of his jaw. Impulsively, Harry carded his own fingers into it, pulling it away from Draco’s face and into a loose fist; he felt Draco groan against his cock, the vibrations making Harry’s balls tighten, his toes curl. He tightened the hand in Draco’s hair. 

Harry’d thought about blow jobs before, about what it would feel like. Impossible not to, not in an all boys’ dorm, and with Seamus and Dean sometimes even providing audible evidence that it was actually _happening_ in the boys’ dorm, too. Harry’d never understood why they’d found it so hard to keep quiet during those moments, breathy moans and muffled sighs coming from either one of their beds depending on what night of the week it was. Now, with Draco's lips sliding down the length of his cock, meeting his spit-slick fingers before pulling back to the head, Harry got it. His mouth fell open again as he groaned, chest visibly rising and falling as he breathed out sharply. He felt liquid, and strung taut at the same time, his cock hard and Draco's tongue driving him mad, bringing him to the peak of pleasure and then keeping him there. Harry’s toes curled as he thrust up a little, before quickly pulling his hips back. 

“Sorry,” he managed, feeling his forehead prickle with sweat, the back of his knees cloying to the material of his pyjama bottoms. He tried to keep his hips still, as he felt his balls tighten. “I think, um.” Harry shut his eyes, groaning loudly as Draco slid down lower, then pulled back in a quick movement; he bobbed his head down again almost immediately. “Oh, _fuck_ , I think I’m gonna come, soon. If you keep doing that.” Harry rolled his hips again, unable to keep them still as Draco moaned, breathing through his nose. His hand was slick with his own saliva as he began to pump in short, sharp movements along the shaft of Harry’s cock, urging him on. 

“Oh, shit,” Harry hissed through his teeth, jaw clenching as he fought the urge to thrust up into Draco’s mouth, Draco’s hand flying over his cock as he sucked at the head. “Oh, _fuck_ , coming, I’m co ―”

Harry groaned, breath hitching loudly as his elbow skidded out from under him. He fell back agaisnt the rucked up bedclothes, panting loudly as his hips stuttered forwards, his cock pulsing into Draco’s mouth. Draco moaned, a crease appearing between his brows as he swallowed, Harry’s come dribbling out of his mouth and down over his still moving fist, his own chin. Harry stared, wide-eyed and unable to look away. His cock twitched one last time before he sagged against the bedclothes. He stared at the shadows of the raindrops as they slid down the roof of the tent. 

“Fuck,” Harry muttered. He looked down the length of his body when Draco laughed, softly. He held Harry’s eye contact, his lips flushed and his cheeks ruddy from exertion as he slowly wiped the back of his hand over his chin, his mouth. He followed it with the heel of his palm, eyes hot as they held Harry’s gaze, his hand curling into a fist. Draco cleared his throat, then coughed into his fist, delicately, once, smirking over the rim of his fingers. Harry gusted a laugh, heart still hammering in his chest. 

“Let me ―” Harry struggled to sit up reaching out towards Draco’s groin. “Do you want me to ―”

“No, I’m fine,” Draco said, his voice a little hoarse still. He coughed into his fist again, and Harry frowned in sex-addled confusion. 

“Wait, so did you, already?”

“No.” Draco laughed, crawling over Harry and kneeling astride him. “Don’t need to.” 

“No?” Harry blinked up at him in confusion. 

“No,” Draco’s reddened lips curled into a smile, “I’m good.” Draco licked his lips, resting back on his heels a little. “Don’t always need to come.”

“Oh.” Harry’s eyes flicked from Draco’s eyes to his lips, and then back again. “Okay,” he mumbled, feeling warmth spread through him at Draco’s words ― at the idea of Draco doing that to him for the sake of doing it, and not for the return gratification. 

Draco hummed softly, then kissed the dip of Harry’s collarbone. Harry stiffened, the contact unexpected and startlingly intimate. Draco’s face was thin, his cheekbones high and sharp and almost too prominent when combined with the distinct line of his jaw, his pale skin and striking eyes. In contrast, his mouth was full, his lips pink and curved. They were soft and damp against Harry’s skin, as Draco kissed against the flutter of the pulse point in Harry’s neck. His fingers were quick as he pulled Harry’s pants back over his hips, his soft cock. Draco smoothed his fingers around the hem. 

“Thanks.” Harry brushed the hair away from his own forehead, smiling as his eyes tracked down to Draco’s mouth, to the plump curve of his lips. Harry pushed himself properly onto his elbows, pulling his own lower lip between his teeth before he really realised what he was doing. Draco’s lips parted in response and he leaned almost close enough to ― 

They both startled as Draco’s watch beeped, loudly. Draco winced, cheeks flushing. 

“Shit. We are so late,” he said in a harsh whisper, shaking his head and pulling away from Harry. “So amazingly fucking late, Potter.” He pushed onto his knees, crawling over to his rucksack and grabbing out his day’s clothes. “We’re going to be hiking in the dark, tomorrow, at this rate.” He smiled as he threw a clean pair of socks at Harry, who was still resting on his elbows and trying to recover from the feeling of Draco's mouth on his cock, how much he’d wanted just now to press his lips to Draco’s. 

“Up!” Draco demanded as he pulled his jumper over his head, turning away from Harry to get dressed. “You lazy sod,” he added, grinning over his shoulder. His pale hair was lightly tangled, the fair strands kinked at the ends as they brushed the tips of his shoulders, over the top of his back. 

Harry groaned at him, but smiled nonetheless as he struggled out of the bed and towards his own rucksack. 

They were on the path within half an hour, boots thudding and sliding over the hard ground, now slick with the rain. 

Within ten minutes of it Harry had realised the rain wasn’t going to give up any time soon, the sky heavy and grey with clouds. Draco was right; Harry liked rain, in that he liked lying in warm bed clothes, listening to it as Draco’s head bobbed between his legs. 

He did not like walking in it. 

“How far have we got?” Harry called out to the back of Draco's head, some time in the late afternoon, cursing as he slid over a slippery rock. They were nearing a slight fork in the path, one smaller trail leading off to the left, and Harry was sure he’d seen that before. Draco, however, didn't respond, Harry’s voice lost in the howl of the wind. 

“Draco!” Harry called again, walking a little faster and wiping the rain away from his glasses for what felt like the umpteenth time. This time, Draco turned to look at him. 

“What?” he snapped. His face looked pinched and drawn, cold, the hood of his waterproof jacket pulled tight around his head. His glasses were spattered with rain, a few escaping tendrils of blond hair painted dark by the rain and plastered against his forehead. He looked annoyed, and _wet_ , and slightly ridiculous with his too large, round glasses and his navy blue waterproof jacket. Harry suspected he looked just as bad himself. 

“How much farther have we got?” Harry repeated, stepping closer. 

Draco shrugged petulantly. “I don’t know,” he griped, raising his voice over the wind and lifting one hand to swipe at the water on his glasses. “A few more hours, but at this rate, we.” Draco stopped, grimacing and turning his face away from the wind as it whipped the rain into his cheeks. “At this rate we’re going to break our fucking necks out here!” he yelled. 

“Yeah, it’s pissing down.” Harry swivelled on his heel, pushing his wet hair away from his own forehead. “There’s a safety point nearby, right?” Harry asked, gesturing at the fork in the trail, then making a face as the wind whipped the rain to sting at his icy cheeks. 

Draco squinted at him. “A what?”

“A safety point, emergency point.” Harry hitched his rucksack higher on his shoulders. “I remember reading that they’re scattered along the trail, for people to stop off in, and there was a sign a little way back with a forked trail and a weird hut thing, on it, so ―” 

“Yes!” Draco clicked his fingers at Harry, grinning suddenly. “You genius.” He stepped back, looking around, before he lurched back into Harry’s personal space. “It's off the path proper, I think, the nearest one,” he shouted through the rain. “It’ll add a bit of walking time to our trip tomorrow, so we’ll have to get up at the arse crack of dawn, but.” Draco licked his lips, grinning. “But we could sleep in a bed tonight!”

Harry’s lips quirked, one side tilting up before the other as he watched Draco’s euphoric smile. His eyes were obscured under his round frames of his glasses, but his cheeks dimpled as he grinned. 

“Yeah, let’s do that!” 

Draco was striding off the left before Harry had even finished speaking. Harry began to follow him, then looked up suddenly, startled by the shape of a dark bird in the sky. He followed its movement across the sky, then laughed in disbelief as the raven circled over him, six or seven smaller birds following in its wake. 

“What’re you doing out in the rain?” Harry mumbled up at them, drops of rain catching on his lips as he craned his face up. He flicked his tongue out to taste the water, wiping at his glasses. Above him, the large raven cawed, the sound stark even above the thud of the rain, the whistle of the wind. 

“Quoth the raven,” Harry whispered, smiling as the bird cawed again, even louder this time. 

He thought he saw the glint of a silver eye, of the bird watching him back as it circled over him, drawing closer with each flap of its large wings. Harry had never seen a raven so big, it’s plumage so dark. He watched it with fascination, the remnants of his dream coming back to him, of the tap of their beaks against the ice. 

“Oi, Potter!” Draco yelled suddenly over the wind. Harry startled out of his reverie, turning guiltily to him. “Stop bird watching and hurry up, you useless twitcher.” Draco’s voice was curt, short, but Harry could see he was still smiling, his hair pressed against his cheeks and his footsteps heavy as he led them towards the emergency point. 

“It’s weird that they're out in the rain!” Harry called, stumbling towards Draco. 

Draco shrugged. “They’re scavengers. Probably waiting for one of us to leave some food, or drop dead. Which I will soon, if you don’t cease with the ornithological pursuits and bloody _hurry up_.” 

Harry scoffed a laugh, knocking Draco’s shoulder with his own as they trudged through the mud towards the smaller trail veering off to the left. 

They reached the cabin before dark. 

It was smaller than Harry had expected, all dark wood and shuttered windows, but he didn’t care. He was wet, and cold, the rain having seeped right under his clothes and down to the core of him. He’d gladly have slept in a cardboard box, a dungeon, under a pile of straw, as long as it was _dry_ and out of this godforsaken wind. 

“Fuck,” Draco said as he walked up the three steps to the dark wood door. Harry grunted in response, too wet and cranky to be bothered speaking properly. 

“It’s locked,” Draco went on, rubbing at his eyebrow in annoyance. “You have to schedule these in advance, and we didn’t. I didn’t even think of it.” Draco chewed his lip thoughtfully. “I don’t think there’s anyone in there, though.” Draco turned to Harry fiercely; Harry stared back, raising one bedraggled eyebrow. “Open the door.” 

“What?” Harry dropped his rucksack off his shoulder, standing closer to the wooden wall. There was a short verandah, which would have sheltered them from the rain, were it not for the fact that the thundering wind was slanting it sideways at them. Harry glowered; he was well and truly done with this rain. Even his sodding _pants_ were soaked through, the water having trickled down the back of the neck of his jacket, into his trousers. “You open it.”

“No, I’m awful at unlocking charms,” Draco replied slickly. Harry rolled his eyes. 

“No one is awful at unlocking charms.” 

“I am.” Draco sniffed. “Wandless, can’t do them at all. If you’re lucky, it’ll make the fly of your trousers come undone, but that’s it. So.” Draco clicked his fingers at Harry, then the door. “Alohomora. Hop to it.” Harry laughed, amused yet unimpressed. 

“You just don’t want to.” 

“Correct, I don’t. So, you’re the Chosen One, Harry, and I’m choosing you to unlock the sodding door.” Draco leaned against the side of the cabin. “Then we can both stop loitering out here like a pair of bloody wet rats.” 

“Ferrets.” Harry grinned, concentrating on the door; his tongue darted out, mouth twisting as he focussed on the lock, and then — _click._ Harry dusted his hands off, picking his bag up off the floor. 

“Ferrets?” Draco repeated stonily. 

“Yeah, wet ferrets,” Harry explained, shifting the weight of his bag to one hand and opening the door with the other. He looked over his shoulder, as Draco glared. Harry bit his lip playfully. 

“You know, the scowl actually just makes you look even wet-ferreter,” Harry said, determined to push his luck. He laughed when Draco roughly shouldered past him in response. 

“I’m taking first shower,” he snapped, trying to glare over his shoulder at Harry. It was hard, considering he was clearly trying not to smile. “You can have the toilet.” 

Harry’s smile immediately dropped off his face, to Draco’s apparent glee. “I can have the toilet,” Harry repeated, nonplussed. He learnt against the wall, pulling off his supposedly waterproof — yet distinctly sodden — outer layers. 

“Yes,” Draco said, poking his head into the compact kitchenette. The cabin was truly small, with a sleeping area off to the side, the toilet and bathroom on the other, and the small cooking area. All in all it was not more than one medium-sized room. “Don’t tell me you’re not gagging to use a proper loo after pissing behind bushes for two days.” 

Harry’s boot dropped onto the ground as he finally wrenched it free. He looked up at Draco in shock. 

“Oh my god.” Harry’s hands hung by his sides as he huffed a startled laugh in Draco’s direction. “I thought you were _posh_ ,” he said accusingly, laughing again on the last word. “And here you are talking about ―” 

“Toilets, yes,” Draco drawled. He turned, then snorted a laugh in response to Harry’s gobsmacked expression. “I am incredibly posh, Potter.” He sniffed derisively. “And I’ve also been pissing behind bushes for two days. Don’t act like you haven’t been missing the comfort and amenities of civilisation, while simultaneously trying to check out my arse every time that nature calls, because I bloody have.” 

Harry blinked. “Wait, you’ve been missing civilised loos, or checking my arse out while I piss?” 

Draco’s lips slanted into a heated smile, his glasses now pushed up on top of his head. “Both.” Draco pushed some of his tangled, wet hair away from his face, his loose ponytail having barely survived the fury of the wind outside. “You have a nice arse,” he added, his smile widening and his rucksack hitting the floor as he let it drop off his shoulders. 

Harry blinked again, feeling the telltale flush of heat to his cheeks. “You. Er. Thank you?” he tried. Draco only laughed again, his own boots now on the floor as he padded barefoot into the small bathroom. 

Harry was still trying to think of something smart to respond with when he heard the shower shudder to life, the pipes grinding. He busied himself with laying his wet clothes out where he could, on peeling off his damp socks. He couldn’t wait to have a hot shower himself. 

The water was warm, luxurious, against Harry’s cold and clammy skin, his tired legs, when he stood in the shower not twenty minutes later, Draco having magnanimously vacated it in order to leave Harry some hot water. It was a miracle neither of them had tripped and hurt themselves during the walk today, Harry thought, letting the hot water sluice over his body. He wondered idly how the bond would respond to something like that, to one of them actually injuring themselves. So far, Harry hitting his head lightly, and having a nightmare, seemed to be enough to trigger it, to set the heartline magic ringing in their ears. Harry couldn’t really imagine what an actual injury would make it do ― it seemed like the bloody bond did have trouble differentiating between actual peril and mild distress, Harry thought wryly as he laved the soap over his body. 

He felt more than happy to know that they only had one more day of this bond, of this training mission and its accompanying hike, tomorrow — and not even a hike, really. It was going to be barely a three-hour walk until they would hit the Tjäktja Valley meeting point and be collected by Holford. And then this whole stupid exercise would be over, Harry thought enthusiastically as he towelled his hair dry, then wrangled a comb through it. One more day of this, and he could go home, sleep in his _own_ bed, with his proper pillow and blankets, and he and Draco could ― 

Harry stopped, comb poised over his hair as another thought suddenly occurred to him: with the end of this exercise came the end of his proximity to Draco. Harry pursed his lips, running a hand over his face and tasting the bitter shampoo still lingering on his fingers, against his lips. They wouldn't have any reason to still be cooped up together, to talk or to share meals ― to bicker and fight and stumble over the past, and yet somehow seem to emerge unscathed. Harry lowered his comb, setting it against the small porcelain sink and staring at his reflection. They wouldn't have any reason to share a bed, to sleep side by side or curled around each other, he thought as his own face stared balefully back at him. He worried his lip with his teeth, his hair for once neat and flat against his head. Draco had made vague reference to getting a drink in London when this was done, Harry knew, but he’s possibly done it in jest, in the midst of an awkward conversation. Harry wasn’t sure if that meant Draco would want to keep doing this once they were back in England, or if this was a one-off occasion, an opportunity they were both making the most of but not something they would continue once on home soil. 

Harry wasn’t stupid. He knew that out here, alone together and finding their footing in a landscape neither of them recognised, wasn’t the real world. He wasn’t sure if that meant this wouldn’t translate back to London, though, or if they could bring what they’d found here back with them. 

He really fucking hoped they could. 

Harry sighed, his slim chest heaving, before he ruffled his hands through his neat hair, deliberately messing it up again. He tried not to think about it again as he quickly shaved, delighting in the luxury of warm water and a sink as he skimmed the razor over the his jaw, his cheeks, rinsing it between each sure glide. With each passing swipe of the blade, he felt a little more like himself, the coarse hair easing away and revealing his familiar face. He knew that Draco preferred a shaving charm, and one which lasted for up to three days, but Harry liked shaving manually, like the comfort and the potential sting of the blade over his skin. It was Sirius who had taught him to shave like this, with a curved blade and a sure hand, and Harry knew it was sentimental, stupid, but it was something he clung onto. Sirius hadn’t been around long enough to teach Harry much, and what he had imparted felt impossibly meaningful to Harry ― even something as quotidian, as banal, as a razor over skin. Harry tapped the blade against the edge of the sink, brushing the towel over his fresh cheeks. 

“Good as new,” he muttered at himself. Harry dressed in a clean pair of woolen pyjama bottom, thick socks, and a hooded black jumper. “Good as new.” 

He wandered back out the kitchen to find Draco using the small gas burner to cook a meal of dehydrated mashed potatoes and a vacuum-sealed bag of unappetising looking beef stew.

“I see your hair has managed, as always, to defy logic and remain a complete bird’s nest of tangles,” Draco declared, looking at Harry briefly before returning to his cooking job. “No wonder the local birdlife wants to make a home in it.”

Harry smiled at Draco, sitting down in the chair opposite him. His hair was wet, parted neatly down the middle and brushed into straight lines which touched his collarbone. He was wearing a long sleeved grey top, and darker, thick thermal leggings, which reminded Harry somewhat of the jodhpurs his aunt had worn every now and again. It wasn’t an attractive look, or at least it shouldn't been. Harry couldn’t stop staring though, at the line of Draco’s legs, his shoulders, at the outline of his nipples through the thin top. He looked at Draco's lips, remembering where they’d been this morning, what Harry had wanted to do afterwards. He bit at his thumbnail, face warm as the rain continued to buffett the sides of the cabin, as Draco made small talk over the small gas burner. 

Harry almost wished, in some part of himself, that they didn’t have to leave tomorrow. 

After their shared dinner ― which was hot and filling, if tasteless and stodgy ― they raided the small cupboards in the kitchenette. 

“I want something sweet,” Draco announced, standing on the balls of his feet and peering into the absurdly high shelf. “And I’d wager you do, too; you always do, given the crippling sugar dependency which is indicated by the unseemly amount of it you put in your hot drinks.” He threw Harry a mock-stern glance. 

Harry scoffed. “Yeah, well.” He leant his hip against the sink. “Sometimes it was all I could get,” he muttered before he could help himself. 

Draco paused in his search. “What do you mean?”

“Well. Um.” Harry rubbed two fingers over his chin, wondering whether he should go on or not. He hadn't really meant to say anything in the first place. He sighed, deciding it wasn’t that big a deal, anyway; loads of people had not great childhoods. “I didn’t always get breakfast. When I was younger.” _Or lunch, or sometimes dinner_ , Harry didn’t say. Draco was watching him now, eyes intent and a small frown appearing between his pale brows. 

“Why not?” he asked sternly.

Harry snorted, mouth twisting wryly. He shrugged in lieu of having to say out loud, _because my aunt and uncle resented having to raise me_. “I could have tea, though,” he continued. “In the mornings, I would cook breakfast for everyone but it wasn’t always, I wasn’t always allowed to have any, and if I wasn't allowed ― if I couldn’t.” He swallowed, staring at the rain on the kitchen window. “I could always have tea. And I’d put loads of sugar in it, to. Well. Fill me up, I guess. S’amazing how you can get by on sugar,” he said softly, feeling bleak rather than angry, and silly for bringing this up. “So I still do it, I guess. Milk and sugar. Bit of a bad habit now,” Harry finished self-deprecatingly, turning back to Draco. He froze when he saw his expression. 

Draco’s eyes were wide, but his brows still creased, two slashes of colour appearing high on each cheekbone. He looked angry, indignant, his grey eyes fierce and his jaw set before he faced the cupboards once more. 

“Right,” he said hoarsely, then cleared his throat before he tried again. “Right. Something sweet,” he repeated adamantly. “We want something sweet for me, and for you,” he said vehemently. 

“Am I allowed to have copious, ungodly amounts of sugar now?” Harry asked playfully, trying to lighten the mood he realised he’d accidentally just significantly dampened. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Draco said with force that surprised Harry. “You can have buckets of the fucking stuff.” He looked at Harry fiercely, then away, seemingly embarrassed by his own reaction. “Children shouldn’t be hungry,” he said quietly after a moment, by means of explanation. He inhaled deeply, pulling out a bottle of something and weighing it in hands. “I mean, my parents weren’t saints, Merlin knows even I’m aware of that. Sometimes my father didn’t speak to me for days, or a week even, if I transgressed his rules. It would be stony silence, every time I saw him, which speaks bloody volumes when you’re eight years old, let me tell you,” Draco said wryly. “Then he’d always lavish me with gifts afterwards, give me presents up to the eyeballs.” Draco’s expression hardened as he looked up at Harry through his lashes. “Not as an apology, though, no. As a _message_ ,” he said angrily. “ _Look at all of this I can give you, all this love, and look at how easily I can take it away. Now fucking behave, Draco_ ,” Draco said in a deep drawl, a clear impersonation of Lucius. Harry felt slightly sick at the idea of it. Draco sniffed, posture straightening. “But even so, I was never hungry, never cold. I never wanted for anything, not in that sense.” He handed the bottle to Harry, letting his fingers linger over Harry’s for a moment longer than was necessary. “Children should never be made to go hungry,” he finished softly. 

Harry felt the brush of Draco’s fingers as they left his own. He nodded.

“ _Limonata_ ,” Harry read, his voice cracking as he looked at the label of the vibrantly yellow drink and avoided Draco’s gaze; he felt oddly exposed, raw, after the brief conversation. It wasn't bad, but Harry wanted it to be behind them now. Draco looked like he agreed. Harry turned the bottle over in his hands, watching the darker pulp at the base stir. It reminded him vaguely of a disrupted snow globe. He made a face. “Is this juice, then?” he asked, pleased that his voice had regained its usual timbre. When he looked up he saw Draco was smiling at him. 

“No, fancy Italian fizzy drink,” Draco explained, reaching up to rummage in the back of the high shelf. “Or it’s French. I forget, but I’d wager good money on all of this being left by the other Muggle hikers who’ve come along this trail. There should be all sorts of — a-ha!” He pulled something down, then made a contemplative face. 

“What?” Harry asked, craning closer to see over Draco’s shoulder. 

“ _Potted Haring_ ,” Draco read from the label, then smirked. He threw the tin at Harry. “Relative of yours?”

Harry stared down at the small tin. An image of a fish stared back, the English translation informing him this was potted pickled herrings. “Oh, very funny, Draco,” Harry gripped, turning the tin over in his hands and leaning back against the counter. 

Draco laughed, the ends of his shower-wet hair dampening the the front of his t-shirt. There were two small patches on each side of his collarbone, Draco’s hair brushing against them. “I thought it was, yes,” he answered, reaching up into the cupboard to see what else was there. 

“Is it Swedish?” Harry asked, still looking down at the tin. Draco shook his head. 

“Dutch, maybe.” He gestured at Harry with a packet of chocolate-covered shortbread biscuits, pilfered from the back of the cupboard, then waved them in triumph. “They're like rollmops,” Draco explained, pointing back at the tin. Harry made a face. 

“I hate rollmops.” 

“You’re a disgrace to our Germanic forefathers,” Draco replied, chewing on a shortbread biscuit and then offering one to Harry. “Take two,” he said when Harry eased one biscuit out of the packet. Harry laughed. 

“You don’t need to feed me, Draco.”

“I know.” Draco finished his mouthful, then sucked a smudge of chocolate off his thumb. “Take two anyway,” he insisted quietly, his eyes warm when Harry did so. 

He followed Draco into the small sleeping area, settling beside him when Draco sat against the small bed. It was hard, and not much larger than a double single bed, but Harry already felt more comfortable than he had been for the past two nights. 

“Merlin,” he said, sighing happily. “It’s going to be good to not sleep on the _ground_. I mean, I know we had a bit of a mattress, but still.”

“Mm.” Draco hummed in agreement, pulling his legs up in front of him. “In comparison to that dodgy air mattress, even a lumpy pile of straw would feel like luxury.”

Harry snorted a laugh. “Yeah. S’gonna be nice.”

They sat in companionable silence, eating the biscuits, until the atmosphere grew somewhat tense. There were two beds in the small room, both narrow and plain, with black bedcovers and pillowcases. Harry suddenly became aware that they’d sat on the same one, but that they didn’t need to; tonight, they could dispense with sharing body warmth, and have their own bed for once. Harry found he didn’t like the idea of that. He wanted to share a bed again, to feel Draco’s body near his while he fell asleep. He wasn’t sure if that was on the cards, although he felt like it might be. The uncertainty was making him a bit awkward, though. He turned to Draco. 

“Are you tired?” he asked, with forced casualness. Draco’s lips turned down as he contemplated his answer. 

“Not really,” he replied, his tone matching Harry’s. “Not quite yet anyway.”

“So, what do we do with the rest of the night?” 

Draco shrugged, leaning against the wall. His shoulder bumped against Harry’s as he took a slow swig of the Limonata, then passed it to Harry. 

“Salazar knows.” Draco popped the last bite of his biscuit into his mouth, before slanting Harry a sideways look. “Truth or dare?” he suggested, wiping his hand with the back of his mouth. 

Harry laughed, the orange drink fizzing on his tongue. “What?” 

“Truth or dare.” Draco’s smile spread a little as he brushed the biscuit crumbs off his fingers. “Used to play it at Hogwarts,” he said with a toothy grin. “In the dorms, to kill the time. Usually had some pretty interesting results, too.” Draco’s smile turned slightly predatory as Harry’s eyes widened. 

“Er. Okay.”

“I’ll go first, shall I?” Draco stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle. 

“Yeah, okay.” Harry waited a moment. “Wait, so does that mean I ask you, or —“

“No, I’m asking you,” Draco said crisply. “Pick one.” 

“Oh, right. Um. Truth, then.” 

Draco sniffed. “How boring.”

“Boring?” Harry laughed. “What were you going to dare me to do?”

“I’ll ask the questions here, thank you,” Draco answered, pulling a pillow behind his back and sighing at the apparent pleasure of it. “Okay, so truth.” Draco pursed his lips, hands in his lap. “Are you gay?” he asked bluntly. 

Harry stilled, shortbread biscuit poised at his lips. “I. What?”

“It’s a very simple question, Harry.”

“Yeah, no. I. Okay.” Harry cleared his throat, his face heating. Really, he should have anticipated this question, and yet he felt a little blindsided by it. “No, I’m not.” He licked his lips, the buttery taste of the shortbread and chocolate still there. “I’m bi.” Harry looked away and then back again. It wasn’t that he felt uncomfortable announcing his sexuality, but he definitely wasn’t used to it. It all felt a bit massively awkward. “I mean, I’ve only, you know, done things with you, though,” he blurted. “Not with girls. Women. Well I’ve kissed them, but not more than that, so,” Harry laughed nervously, “so maybe I can’t really say I’m into both.”

Draco frowned at him. “You mean, not until you’ve had sex with one of each?” He leant forward to try and see Harry’s expression better. “I'm no expert, but I don’t think that’s how these things work, Harry,” he said, expression sceptical but his tone light. 

“Yeah.” Harry laughed again, still nervous. “I know. I’m just talking crap.” He slid a little lower down the wall, bringing his knees up and feeling more than a little bit stupid. 

Draco plucked at the leg of his trousers, forefinger and thumb pulling at the soft material. 

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable with that question,” Draco said quietly. He folded his arms across his middle, turning to gauge Harry’s response. 

Harry shook his head. “No, you didn’t,” he replied, and it was mostly true. Whatever awkwardness and discomfort he felt talking about his sexuality didn’t come from Draco, but Harry’s own upbringing, and his lack of seeing people around him really talk about it when he was younger, he suspected. It wasn’t until Seamus had taken him aside in eighth year and gently suggested that it was okay if Harry might not be straight that he even allowed himself to properly consider it.

“For what it’s worth,” Draco said quietly, “I’ve had sex with both girls and boys, and I can confidently say that I am very gay.” He smiled a little self-deprecatingly. “Well, one girl. And I knew I was gay before I had sex with her. But still." 

Harry laughed, a little too loud in his relief at the focus turning from him and onto Draco. “Wait, but you did it anyway?”

“Oh, yes.” Draco sighed. 

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Why?”

Draco sighed again, loud and exaggerated. “Because, Potter,” he leaned forwards to look into Harry’s eyes, “that’s what good pure-blood men do. We sleep with suitable women, and sire sturdy sons. Unpalatable though it may be to some of us.” His lips twisted into a small wry smile. “Pansy was kind enough to offer.”

Harry wrinkled his nose further. “Ew, Parkinson.”

“Oi, shut it!” Draco hit his shoulder lightly. “That’s my best friend you’re talking about.”

“And you had sex with her.”

“Correct.”

“Because you felt like you ought to, even though you’re gay.”

“Oh, get off your high horse, Potter,” Draco said, dismissively. “She’s even gayer.” 

“What!” Harry sat forwards. “Then why did _either_ of you ―” 

“Oh, because!” Draco threw his hands up. “We were sixteen and trying to be good and straight and do our lineage proud, I don't know. It was an astounding disaster, regardless.”

“Why, what happened?” 

Draco looked at him slyly. “Is this your turn, am I doing truth?”

“No, this is me being curious,” Harry replied honestly; as much as he didn’t like the idea of Pansy in any kind of sexual scenario ― especially one with Draco ― he was dying to know what had happened. 

Draco twisted his mouth, seeming to weigh his words before he replied. 

“Fine.” Draco sat up a little straighter. “It was just all a bit...flaccid.”

“ _Flaccid_?”

“The most flaccid experience of my teenage years, I’d say, yes.”

Harry barked a laugh, earning a mild glare from Draco. “Sorry. Wow.” Harry tried to control his facial expressions, which were currently flickering between delighted and horrified. “So, you couldn't get hard, or ―”

“No, _getting_ hard was fine, it was staying hard that was the issue. It started out fine but then halfway through it was all,” Draco’s mouth turned down, “well, a bit like pushing rope really.”

“Oh, god.” Harry looked away in second-hand embarrassment. 

“Quite,” Draco deadpanned.

“What, so you just,” Harry held out his arm, then let his wrist hang limply, “like, _during_ the sex?”

“Correct.” 

They sat in silence, Harry making an awkward face at the the wall opposite and Draco chewing his lip as he tried not to smile. 

“So, did you...finish?” Harry asked after a moment.

“Not even close.”

Harry laughed again, loudly. “Fucking _hell_. What did she say?”

“Oh, I think she was relieved, to be honest,” Draco responded, outright smiling now. 

“So then what did you do?”

“Hmm.” Draco tilted his head as he recalled. “Played chess in our dressing gowns, I think, and talked about people we’d have actually preferred to try and shag.”

Harry shook his head, hair catching on the wall as he grinned. “Who was hers?”

“I am sworn to never reveal that.” Draco sniffed. “Snape.”

“Oh my _god_!” Harry pressed his fingers over his eyes. “Gross!"

“Prude,” Draco quipped, outright smirking now. Harry dropped his hands down into his lap. 

“And yours?”

Draco’s expression tightened, but the humour didn’t leave his eyes. “Nope.”

“Nope?”

Draco shook his head. “No, you’re not getting that out of me.”

“Oh, but you’re okay with telling me Pansy’s within, what, 0.2 seconds of me asking?” Harry retorted, his cheeks flushed from smiling and his stomach reeling with the sudden desire to know who sixteen-year-old Draco would have rathered been shagging. Draco, though, looked at him with steely determination. 

“No, you’ll not get it out of me. Besides, quit moaning, you’ve already have about ten turns in this conversation alone,” Draco complained, his tone distinctly unbothered. 

“No I haven’t!” Harry blurted. “Those weren’t official.”

“You just pried a load of truths out of me, Potter.”

“Yeah, but that still wasn’t my go,” Harry insisted, getting comfortable against the wall. His back was starting to ache from the position. He quickly decided to lie down, propping two pillows behind him. He moved over, making room, when Draco followed suit and did the same. 

The bed wasn’t really big enough for two people to lay side by side, and they ended up with their shoulders pressed close together, their hips touching and thighs against each other. Harry almost sighed at the familiar warmth of Draco’s body, before he caught himself. He cleared his throat instead. 

“So, it’s my turn,” Harry announced to the ceiling. “Truth or dare. You pick.” 

“Fine.” Draco settled back against the bed, pulling one of the blankets around his legs. As an afterthought, he spread it over Harry’s legs, too. “Truth.” 

Harry chewed on his lip, debating what to ask, what he might like to know. Draco was right; he had just given the answers to a few questions Harry might have wanted to ask ― was he gay, how did he lose his virginity ― and now, Harry wasn’t sure which direction to take this in. 

“Did you recognise me at the Manor?” he impulsively blurted. 

Beside him, Draco stiffened. His mouth worked as he sought to answer, his eyes wide. He looked blindsided by the question, and Harry felt a little bit the same; he hadn’t known he was going to ask that, but at the same time, he didn’t regret it. 

Draco stared at his hands, folded on his stomach, then chanced a look at Harry from beneath his lashes. He didn’t look angry, or upset, and Harry let go of a tense breath he hadn’t quite noticed he’d been holding. Whatever it was he was doing here, he didn't want to cause a fight. 

“Dare,” Draco eventually said. 

Harry blinked. “What?” 

“I’m changing to dare.”

“You can’t change!” Harry laughed, but Draco only shrugged. 

“Dare or nothing, Potter.” 

Harry shook his head, then folded his arms. “All right, fine.” He chewed his lips, eyeing the elastic bands on Draco’s wrists as Draco set the half-empty pack of biscuits on the floor. “I dare you to put your hair in pigtails.” 

Draco’s head whipped around. “I beg your fucking pardon?” 

“You heard me.” Harry grinned. 

“What the fuck, Potter?”

“Pigtails.” Harry’s grin widened. “I think it’d be a good look on you. Your hair’s long enough.” He cocked his head to the side. “Or maybe two buns, one on each side, like a snooty blond Princess Leia.”

“Who?” Draco asked, alarmed and appalled. “I’m not wearing pigtails, what is wrong with you?”

“Well, that’s the dare. Take it or leave it.” Harry spread his hands, as though it was all out of his control, even though he knew he was being a total prat. It was a wonderful feeling. 

Draco blinked at him, his eyes wide and his face pale. “Can I go back to truth?” 

Harry shrugged. “Sure. So, did you recognise me at ―”

“Oh, come on!” Draco shook his head, pulling at the bands on his wrist. “Ask me something else.” He let the elastic snap back against his wrists, reddening the skin, then waited a moment. He licked his lips. “Please?” he asked, a plaintive tone entering his voice.

Harry pulled at his lip, meeting Draco’s eyes. He still didn’t look upset, but perhaps a little imploring. Harry wasn’t sure why this was a question Draco didn’t want to answer, but he felt compelled to respect that. Godric knew, Harry had his own questions he’d move heaven and earth not to have to respond to. There was even something refreshing at being asked to change a difficult subject — the swell of the past rising up to swallow them but not succeeding, Draco politely requesting to change course without deflecting entirely. Harry liked it. 

“Okay.” Harry propped himself up on one elbow, his body angling slightly over Draco. “Truth. Tell me who you wanted to shag instead of Pansy.” 

Draco groaned, moving one hand over his face. “Circe’s bloody _tits_ , you are relentless.” 

“Go on, tell me,” Harry cajoled. 

“Bloody hell.” 

“I won’t tell anyone,” Harry whispered, leaning closer. “Was it also Snape?” he asked, trying to sound stern even though he was holding back a laugh. 

“No!” Draco said, perhaps a little too quickly. “Certainly not. I mean, perhaps if he’d washed his hair.” 

“So it _was_ Snape!” Harry crowed. Draco laughed, hair fanning out over the pillow as he frowned at Harry. 

“No, it fucking wasn’t, you infuriating tosser!“ 

“No, say no more.” Harry held his hand up placatingly. “It was Snape, _you_ wanted to shag Sn—” 

“You!” Draco interjected. 

Harry’s fingers slowly curled into a loose fist. “Me what?” he asked, stupidly, his heart beginning to pound. 

“You, as in it it was you who I wanted to shag, all right?” Draco rubbed his hands over his eyes, under his glasses, and then down to his mouth. “God, I should have just done the bloody pigtails,” he muttered through his fingers.

Harry looked at Draco’s nails. They were neat and clean, well kept. They matched his long fingers, elegant and pale, and what the actual fuck, Draco wanted to _shag_ him back at Hogwarts?

“No,” Harry said, his voice breathy and low. 

“ _Yes_ ,” replied Draco, mimicking his tone. His face was pink, flushed with embarrassment. 

Harry’s heart beat even faster, jumping into his throat. Perhaps that was why he was currently at a total loss for words. 

“Well, that shut you up,” Draco mumbled grumpily, his posture tensing. Harry shook his head, not wanting to lose the evening to awkwardness. He felt completely poleaxed, though. 

“That was in sixth year,” he managed to say around his shock and the flutter of his heart. It felt off rhythm, pumping double time, and he wondered if that was the bond, letting him know Draco was uncomfortable via the intangible heartlines connecting them. He tossed that thought aside; it was more likely it was all Harry, giddy and delighted and confused as all buggery, and putting his poor heart through hell. 

“Before sixth year.” Draco pulled his hand away, taking his glasses with it and placing them on the bedside table by the bed. He lay his hand down beside his head. “It was before school started, before everything went to —” Draco cut himself off.

“And you wanted to have sex with me,” Harry stated. 

“Yes, well, instead of Pansy, who I didn’t want to have sex with at _all_ , so it's not really that big a compliment. There’s no need to get funny about it,” Draco said defensively. 

“I’m not getting funny.” 

“Potter.” Draco shot him a withering look. “That is a huge lie, and you know it.” He sighed. “Look, it wasn’t like I wanted to marry you or anything.” 

“No, I wouldn't imagine you did.” 

“I hated you, I wanted to beat you at Quidditch, at Potions, at everything, and at the same time I wanted to find out what you looked like naked, and presumably scoff at how my dick was bigger than yours, and then, y'know. Compare them intimately, I guess.” Draco didn’t quite meet his eyes. “It wasn’t a big deal,” he finished unconvincingly. 

“No.” Harry splayed his palm against the bedspread, watching the way the material smoothed out beneath his fingers. “'Course it wasn’t.”

“It wasn’t!”

“I believe you!” Harry lied, as sincerely as he could.

“ _Good_.”

Draco rubbed his fingers over his lips. Harry didn’t even pretend he wasn’t staring, as he tried to catalogue his emotions: surprise, excitement, elation. He tapped one finger, and then two, against the bed. 

“Um. Can I ask.” Harry took a deep breath, as Draco grunted in response. “Why...” Harry paused, trying to search for the right way to phrase what he wanted to know. “If you knew that. If you’d thought about it before. Why then did you freak out about me kissing you, in the pub? And why is what we’ve been doing, is this,” Harry waved a hand between them, “why is _this_ okay, but the — admittedly not that well-planned — kiss wasn’t?” 

Harry let his hand drop on the sliver of mattress between them, Draco’s eyes following it. He didn’t look particularly relieved by this next question, but then again, he didn’t look more bothered, so Harry took that as a positive sign. 

“By ‘this’ is assume you mean us sleeping together?” Draco asked in reply, his tone blunt. 

Harry nodded, once, in confirmation. 

Draco sighed. “I didn’t freak out.” He cringed at his own lie. “Okay, I did freak out,” he amended. “Because.” He licked his lips, forehead creasing as he thought. “Oh fuck it, I freaked out because I think you’re my, that we’re, you know. That we’re _friends_ ,” Draco finally said, all in a rush. “And I like that. I didn’t want. I didn’t want anything to happen that would change that.” Draco made an annoyed sound at his own inability to articulate what he was trying to say. “I like being your friend, and I didn’t know what you wanted, in the pub, whether you were just drunk, or horny, and so I panicked. And then you kept looking at me like a kicked puppy all week, and I felt like a total arse about the way I was acting, but I couldn’t help it because I needed to _think_ , and then.” Draco exhaled, the deluge of words finally slipping from a torrent to a trickle. “And now we’re here. And I told you, at the beginning. I said it would be okay if something happened, and it has happened. And it is okay. I think.” Draco swallowed, not quite meeting Harry’s eyes. 

“It is,” Harry said quickly, his voice rougher than he’d expected. “It’s fine,” he added. 

Draco’s lips twisted to one side as he finally looked at Harry. “Fine?” he repeated, his voice unreadable. 

“Yeah.” Harry smiled, and it was only a little shaky. “That’s the trick, right? You say it’s fine, and it will be.” Harry leant forwards, then closer again until Draco met his eyes. 

Draco laughed, belatedly. “How fabulously simplistic of you, Potter,” he observed, but there was no sarcasm in his voice. He sighed again, heavily, but he looked significantly more at ease. “Salazar, that’s the most honesty you’re ever getting out of me,” he remarked wryly. “That was physically exhausting.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yes,” replied Draco curtly. “I regret suggesting this game _immeasurably_.” 

Harry laughed, then bit his lip. He stretched his fingers, then let them bump up against Draco’s rib cage.

“I don’t,” he said softly. 

Draco turned a warm look at him. “Wanker,” he quipped, but it was fonder than it was annoyed.

Harry felt his heart beat faster again, his insides lurching with that terrible, wonderful, and completely frightening affection Draco brought out in him. For the first time since this had begun, though, Harry thought he wasn’t the only one feeling that. He moved closer, let his knee touch Draco’s thigh. 

“It’s your turn,” he said quietly. “To ask me.”

Draco glanced down at Harry’s hand then back to his face. He licked his lips. 

“Truth or dare, Harry,” he murmured. 

Harry swallowed, gaze flicking from Draco’s eyes, then to his lips. “Dare,” he mumbled. 

Draco’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, then leant up onto his elbows. It brought him closer to Harry, their faces almost touching. 

“Dare,” he repeated, nose just close enough to brush Harry’s. “Okay. Kiss me again,” he said softly, lips slipping up into a half smile. 

“What?” Harry breathed. 

“It’s a very simple dare, Potter,” Draco teased, his voice soft and lilting slightly. “I can change it if you like,” he whispered, pushing up even higher onto his elbows. His top stretched taut over his chest, his eyes sharp as they focussed on Harry. “Perhaps we can go back to the pigta ―”

Harry pressed his mouth to Draco's, cutting him off. 

It was quick, a hard connection of lips rather than anything remotely resembling finesse, and over within seconds. Draco was still smiling as Harry pulled back, head tilted to one side. 

“You know, I thought after having a bit more time to think about it, you might actually be better at this the second time arou ―”

Harry quickly pressed his mouth once more to Draco’s smirking lips. 

“Shut up.” He kissed Draco again, softer and yet more insistently. He was smiling himself, his cheeks warm and his chest fluttering as he brushed his lips against Draco’s. He moved closer when he felt Draco’s fingers touch the hem of his t-shirt, then slip underneath it. 

“You’re actually not as bad at this as I assumed,” Draco murmured, his lips still tilted into that teasing smile. There was colour on his cheeks now, his top having ridden up slightly and exposing a strip of pale skin over his belly. His stomach tensed, the muscles pulling away, when Harry ran his fingers over it. Warm, Harry thought — Draco’s skin was warm. He kissed Draco deeper, his lips soft and slightly wet as Draco’s tongue brushed his, as Harry moved his hand under Draco’s top. He paused when he reached the slight flare of Draco’s ribs. 

He thought, for one strange moment, how odd it was that he had essentially had sex with Draco, on more than one occasion, without ever really kissing him, and without ever really touching his skin — not like this, anyway. He let his fingers splay around Draco’s ribs, kissing the corner of his mouth as he debated what to do next. His breath left him on a shaky exhale when Draco pressed deeper into the kiss, mouth open against Harry’s and fingers on Harry’s own. He moved Harry’s hand higher up his chest. 

“Shit,” Harry muttered against Draco’s lips, letting Draco guide his hand. Draco’s top bunched up in its wake, around Harry’s wrists and Harry exhaled again when his fingers bumped over Draco’s nipple. This time, Draco sighed into Harry’s mouth. 

“Shit,” Harry said again, running his lips over Draco’s and moving his fingers on gentle strokes over the peaked nub. Draco’s chest shook slightly as he laughed. 

“I’m not sure,” Draco arched into Harry’s touch, “if I should be flattered by the expletives or appalled.” 

“Flattered,” Harry responded quickly, pinching a little at Draco’s nipple. Draco hummed into his mouth, pressing his chest further into Harry’s fingers, kissing him harder. Harry did it again, his cock filling out inside his pyjama bottoms. He rolled his hips against Draco, his thigh slipping between Draco’s as he did so. 

“I like this,” Harry muttered stupidly. 

Draco gusted another laugh, rolling his hips up against Harry’s. “Your pillow talk needs work,” he teased, one hand running over Harry’s back. “Swearing, banal statements.” 

“Shut up.” Harry laughed, pinching harder at Draco’s nipple. Draco’s breath hitched when Harry did it again. “Isn’t pillow talk after sex?” Harry murmured, continuing to kiss Draco through his laughter. 

“No.” Draco roughly pulled Harry on top of him. “It’s whenever I say it is,” he bit at Harry’s lips, both hands now rucking Harry’s t-shirt up. “But speaking of sex.” He let his hands travel down to Harry’s arse, rolled his own erection against Harry’s. “Do you want to fuck me?” 

Harry moaned, his cock jumping before he’d even finished processing the question. “Yes,” he croaked, his mind struggling to catch up to what his body had already decided it wanted to do. 

Draco’s lips spread into a pleased grin. “Good.”

“How do.” Harry licked his lips, thigh sliding further between Draco’s. He swallowed another moan. “How do we do that, can we even ―”

“Relax.” Draco laughed. “We don’t have to, if—”

“No, I want to,” Harry interrupted quickly. “I just. Have you done it before?” 

“Yes.” Draco pulled at Harry’s t-shirt, lifting it over his head, and Harry helped. The material caught on his ears, knocking his glasses askew, and he righted them, watching Draco as he pulled his own top off. 

“Oh.” Harry sat back on his heels. “Of course you have.” 

Draco dropped his top over the side of the bed, looked up through the mess it had made of his hair. “What does that mean?” he queried, laughing even though his voice was a little defensive. 

“I just, I mean you wouldn’t have offered if you hadn’t done it before,” Harry explained earnestly. “Like.” He licked his lips, looking down Draco’s chest, then back to his eyes. “It hurts, right?” 

Draco rested his hands on the bed, his expression lifting from a scowl to one of surprise, then understanding. Slowly, he shook his head. “No,” he uttered, barely louder than a whisper. 

Harry felt his cheeks flush. “Like, not at all?” 

Draco shook his head again. “Doesn’t have to. It feels good. Maybe strange, at times. Maybe not everyone likes it.” Draco bit his lower lip, then spread his legs wider. He bent them at the knee, the shape of his erection visible through his trousers. Harry felt his cheeks suffusing with heat. “I’ll show you one day,” Draco mumbled, half proposition, half offer. Harry’s own cock twitched in his pyjamas, excitement rocketing through him ― at the idea of what that might feel like, of finding out. 

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I think I’d. Um.” He pushed his hair away from his forehead. “I think I’d like that.” 

“Good.” Draco leaned forward, kissed him again, softly. “Lie down on your back.” 

Harry blinked, startled. “What, you mean you’re showing me _now?”_ he exclaimed, half apprehensive, half dizzyingly excited at even the idea of it, his blood rushing south fast enough to make him light-headed. 

Draco raised one brow. “No,” he said slowly, looking at Harry inquisitively. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Harry babbled, his face colouring a deep, mortified red. “Shit, no, it. I. Of course, sorry ―”

Draco kissed him again, cutting off his embarrassed rambling. “Harry,” he started. 

“No, that was me being stupid.” Harry quickly lay down next to Draco, awkwardly squashing one of his hands. Draco rose up onto his knees, then swung one leg over Harry’s waist.

“Harry,” he repeated more forcefully. His hair swung forwards as he looked down. He leaned closer. “I just don’t think that right now, right here, is the most opportune moment for the first time you do...that.” He kissed Harry’s jaw. 

Harry turned his head towards him, scowling. “Because?” 

“Because, Harry,” he licked over Harry’s chin, then kissed the smooth, clean-shaven skin, “do you really want to finish tomorrow’s hike with a sore arse?” he muttered, lingering a little on the S, his lips open against Harry’s skin. 

Harry’s breath hitched, a laugh caught up in a groan. “Is your dick that big?” he whispered. 

Draco snorted a laugh, indelicate and loud. “Big enough.” He kissed the line of Harry’s jaw again. Harry huffed a laugh. 

“Thought you said it doesn’t hurt.”

“It doesn’t have to, no.” Draco’s lips were gentle on Harry’s, even as he sat down on Harry’s groin. Harry’s cock was still hard, miraculous despite his somersaulting nerves, and he cut off a moan. Draco rocked against him, his arse moving over Harry's erection, and Harry gripped his hips, sighing into his mouth. “But you’ll still feel it.” Draco rotated his hips again, his arse rocking against Harry’s cock. 

“Yeah?” Harry’s voice was breathy, almost embarrassingly so, and he curled his toes, bending his knees slightly. The movement brought Draco closer to him, and he curved his hands around the swell of Draco’s arse. 

Draco grinned lopsidedly. “Yes.” He canted his hips forwards in a short, sharp movement, and they both groaned. “It feels good.”

“Fuck.” Harry tightened his hands on Draco’s arse, lifting his hips off the bed slightly. 

“That’s the plan,” Draco mumbled, leaning down to kiss down the line of Harry’s neck. 

Harry chuckled, his voice low. “Now whose pillow talk needs work?” he cut off on a groan when Draco bit lightly at his neck. 

“Shut it,” Draco snapped, leaning back to grin at Harry. “And get the rest of your kit off.”

Harry huffed another surprised laugh, resting on his elbows as Draco sat upright in his lap. “You first,” he replied. 

Draco gripped his prick through his trousers, smiling cockily at Harry. He squeezed it once, then swung his leg over, quickly standing by the bed and dropping his trousers to the floor. 

He stood by the bed, naked and expectant. Harry stared, his cheeks a hot red and slow, deep arousal building inside him as he looked at Draco’s chest ― smooth, unblemished, with only the faintest trace of featherlight scars ― down to the thatch of dark blond hair at his groin, his hard prick jutting forwards from it. Draco tugged on it once as Harry watched, long fingers curling around into a fist, before he let it go. He cleared his throat. 

“Potter.” Draco raised both eyebrows. Harry tore his eyes away ― still reeling from the sight of Draco’s naked chest, of the faint scars. He’d expected more, somehow, that there would be a more visible mark of Harry’s stupid anger, but unless he’d been looking for it, Draco’s chest appeared almost entirely untouched. His left arm, on the other hand, was starkly different. The Mark had faded, no longer black and foreboding but the deep pink of scar tissue. Faded and benign, Harry told himself, as he tracked the shape of it with his eyes until Draco’s fingers slowly covered the scar, one hand wrapping over his forearm. 

“Potter,” he said again, his voice a fraction lower. He defensively tightened his grip on his arm, splaying his fingers to cover as much of the scar as he could. Harry realised belatedly that he’d been staring, open-mouthed, and how this might be construed by Draco. The mood had immediately soured, the room even seeming colder and Draco’s expression clouded over. _Fuck_ , Harry thought, internally kicking himself. He couldn't blame himself for looking ― he’d been curious about Draco’s Mark since the Astronomy tower ― but he could have been a little less obvious about it. He quickly sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He gripped Draco's hips when he moved to take a step backwards. 

“Malfoy,” Harry said mirroring Draco’s tone. He held his eye contact as he kissed Draco’s stomach, up to the base of his ribs. The scars were criss crossed across the pale skin, as thin as spider silk in places, it seemed to Harry, and he didn’t avoid kissing them. He didn’t seek them out either, though, focussing instead on Draco’s skin — the warmth of it, the way his chest moved with his breathing, the light taste of sweat. This wasn’t an apology for the spell, for following him, for what had happened then, but for making Draco uncomfortable now. Now was what actually mattered, now as Harry kissed Draco’s ribs, as high as he could reach, as Draco stepped between Harry’s parted thighs, his hand dropping away from his left forearm. Harry moaned when Draco carded his fingers into his hair. 

“Harry,” Draco said quietly, and Harry tilted his head to look up at him. “You were supposed to be taking the rest of your kit off,” he murmured. 

“Yeah,” Harry croaked, looking at Draco through his fringe. He was smiling now, faintly but there all the same, and Harry kissed his stomach one last time. He grinned up at Draco as he scooted back on the bed. “Right.” 

Harry took a deep breath then roughly shoved his pyjama bottoms down, then kicked them off his legs. His cock bounced as he did so, still hard and aching between his legs. Harry tried hard not to be embarrassed by it. He'd been naked in front of people before, and hell, he’d got off with Draco before, but still. He felt a little bit stupid, as he lay back down and avoided Draco’s eyes. 

The bed dipped as Draco knelt next to him, his legs warm as they straddled Harry’s thighs, sitting just high enough for their groins not to touch. 

“Harry.” Draco lay a hand on either side of Harry’s head, then waited for Harry to look back at him. “Are you going all blushing virgin on me?”

“I’m not a virgin,” Harry replied quickly. 

Draco grinned. “Then stop blushing like one.” Draco kissed him, once, a sharp peck on the mouth. 

“I’m not.” 

“You are.”

“Stop being a tosser.” Harry laughed against Draco's mouth, moving a hand to cup his jaw. 

“I’m not,” Draco replied, kissing Harry messily. “ _You_ are.”

“You are!

“Am not.”

“Grow up, Draco.”

“Fuck me.”

Harry moaned, hips lifting off the bed just as Draco sat back in his lap. Harry jolted at the contact, hand curling tight around Draco’s jaw, into his hair. “God, you’re such a…”

“A what?” Draco prompted, when Harry didn’t finished. 

Harry bit his lip, shaking his head against the pillow. “Prat,” he mumbled, grinding his cock against Draco’s arse. Draco hummed, grinning. 

“Fuck me,” Draco said again.

“Yeah.” He kissed Draco, moaning softly when he felt Draco’s cock touch his belly. “What do we ―” 

“Mm.” Draco pulled Harry’s lower lip between his own, sitting up; Harry moaned at the loss of contact. He moved his own hand behind himself, muttering something in eloquent tones, and then another spell under his breath. He tensed slightly when he was finished, and Harry frowned. 

“What was that?” he asked, hips still rising off the bed slightly as he sought the warmth of Draco’s body back against his. 

Draco shut one eye, the muscles in his arm tensing as he moved the hand behind himself. “It’s a spell that I fortuitously am excellent at casting wandless,” he answered. Harry squinted at him. 

“Was that...like a cleaning charm, and then something else?” he asked, recalling that Draco had said he was particularly good at those. 

Draco’s eyes gleamed. “Yes.” He licked his lips. “Something like that.”

“What for?” 

Malfoy pursed his lips, a smile tickling around the corners of his mouth. “Potter,” he said evenly, drawing his hand back from behind himself, then trailing his fingers down Harry’s sternum, to his stomach. “Considering you nearly had a fit because you think I’m too posh to mention toilets in general conversation, I’m not sure if you’re ready to know what that spell was for.” His fingers stopped just above Harry's groin.

Harry’s mouth dropped open, heat suffusing over his face, his chest, as the purpose of the spell dawned on him. “O — oh,” he muttered. Draco quickly kissed him again, letting his fingers trail lower. He ran them over Harry’s cock, the sensation jolting through Harry, before Draco gripped it in his hand. “Sounds practical,” Harry blurted inanely, eyelids fluttering as he bit his lip, as Draco ran his fingers in a loose fist up and down his cock. 

“Quite,” Draco murmured. “Preparation, and lube.” He sat upright in Harry’s lap, hair brushing the tips of his shoulders and Harry’s cock still in his fist. “Are an arsehole’s best friend,” he added, sitting forward to run the head of Harry’s cock over his hole. 

Harry croaked a laugh. “Jesus, Malfoy.” His voice broke on a groan when Draco rolled his hips, the tip of Harry’s cock brushing between his cheeks. It was slick with lube, and warm, and Harry pressed his lips together then impulsively removed his glasses and lay them on the bedside next to Draco’s. “You’re very direct,” Harry said, tentatively moving his hands up Draco’s tense thighs. His stomach was fluttering with nerves, anticipation, and his cock stiff and leaking. 

Draco’s lips quirked, a slow smile blooming over his lips. “It’s good to be direct, I find,” he said as he lifted up slightly, then pressed his arse back against Harry’s cock, “when it comes to sex.” He quickly leaned down, and kissed Harry’s jaw. “Ready?” he asked, teeth running over Harry’s skin. Harry took a steadying breath, or tried to; the head of his cock was slick with lube, with precome, and he already felt overexcited about what was about to happen. 

“Ready?” Draco asked again, one hand on the bed beside Harry’s head and the other still around his cock. 

“Yeah,” Harry said, his voice rough. “Yes.” 

Draco made a pleased sound in the back of his throat, rubbing his fist over Harry’s prick. “Good. Now, push back.” 

“Against wha— _ah_ ,” Harry swallowed the rest of the word, and his groan too, as Draco bore down on him. Draco’s face twisted in concentration, white teeth and pointed canines pulling at his lower lip as he rolled his hips, Harry’s prick still gripped in his fist until — 

They both gasped — Draco low and pleased and Harry high-pitched and surprised — as the head of Harry’s cock slipped inside him. 

“Fuck,” Harry mumbled, swallowing. His chest was rising and falling quickly now, his eyes fluttering closed as he let his hands smooth up to Draco’s hips. 

“Push back,” Draco whispered roughly, sitting further upright and guiding Harry’s cock inside him. Harry lifted his legs up, feet against the bed. He thrust up slightly, pushing up against Draco’s body and groaning as his cock slipped another inch or so inside Draco. 

Draco hissed between his teeth. Harry stilled. 

“Shit, is that—”

“Fine,” Draco quickly interrupted. “It’s fine, keep doing that.” 

“What if I hurt you?” Harry managed, his brow creasing and his forehead already slick with sweat. 

Draco laughed, lips parted as he rocked back against Harry, slowly taking more of his cock inside him. 

“Potter,” he said crisply, removing his hand from Harry’s cock. He placed it beside Harry’s head, using the leverage to roll his hips down with added momentum. “You know me pretty well by now, right?” His hair was falling around his face, his cheeks pink and warm. 

His face was inches from Harry’s, his lips parted, and Harry’s breath hitched, his balls already tight and his cock aching. He could barely think around the onslaught of sensations around him, of tight, warm, wet heat around his cock, or Draco’s body as he inched down to take more of Harry in. 

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled, hands tight as another rush of warmth ran through him; he liked the idea of knowing Draco well. He liked the feeling of Draco’s naked skin against his own, of his cock brushing Harry’s stomach as his arse tightened around him. It was unlike anything Harry had felt before, hot and tight and almost unbearably intimate, and Harry bit his lip. He was already dangerously close to coming. 

“Well,” Draco kissed him once, then again when Harry’s breath hitched, “do you really think I wouldn’t let you know if it hurt?” he whispered, rocking back again. 

Harry slipped his hands to Draco’s back, shook his head. His hair caught a little on the pillow. 

“No,” he mumbled, shifting his hips. He moaned as Draco’s moved in response, setting up a slow rhythm. It was maddening, and perfect, not enough and too much at the same time, and Harry gripped at Draco’s sides as his mouth dropped open, his breath stuttering out of him in loud gasps. Draco kissed his lower lip, sucked it between his own then sank down on Harry’s cock, taking him in fully.

“Oh, go ―” Harry clenched his fingers, the muscles in his thighs, even his toes. “Fuck,” he breathed out, staring at Draco’s collarbone, at the dip of his throat, then at the ugly duvet to his side. Merlin’s tits, but it felt so good, the slide of Draco’s legs against his own, his body hot and accommodating Harry with relative ease. Draco lifted off of Harry’s cock, rising up on tense thighs then moaning as he dropped back down. Harry groaned, loud and guttural. 

“Good?” Draco murmured breathily, tucking his hair behind one ear and kissing messily over Harry’s mouth. 

Harry nodded, trying to form a sentence over the building rush of arousal in his stomach, at the base of his spine, tickling over his shoulder blades and chest. He kissed at Draco’s lips again instead.

“Good,” Draco affirmed, pleased and flushed and rotating his hips, lifting off Harry’s cock and sinking back down again. 

“Fuck, this feels incredible,” Harry blurted, a tumble of words. 

Draco hummed, moving faster. “We’re only getting started,” he whispered, kissing Harry dirty and deep. He moved faster still. Harry bit his own lip, hard, shutting his eyes. God, this was too much, too much sensation. Draco kissed over his cheek, his jaw, pulled his earlobe between his teeth, and fuck Harry was going to ― 

“I like the way you feel inside me, Harry,” Draco whispered, low and dirty, and _oh shit_. 

Harry’s toes curled, his arms wrapping around Draco’s waist and pulling him close as his orgasm hit him, sudden and hard and glorious and _terrible_ all at once. He bit at Draco’s neck, at his shoulder, panting as his cock pulsed, as Draco stiffened in surprise. He turned his face towards Harry’s temple. 

“Did you just ―”

Harry groaned, low and miserable and euphoric all at once. 

“Fuck,” he gasped, his back arching off the bed as his body curled forwards. 

“You just came,” Draco stated, lips slipping up into a smile. “Oh my god, you just came.”

Harry hugged Draco to him harder, pressing his hot cheek against Draco’s. “ _Fuck_ ,” he repeated, breathing hard. “Fuck and shit.”

To his horror, Draco laughed, the sound loud and indelicate. 

“Oh, fuck you!” Harry snapped, trying for indignant. It was hard when he was sweaty and breathless and his come was slipping out of Draco’s arse, down to Harry’s balls. Harry shivered, his fingers curling into fists. 

“Why?” Draco asked. 

“You’re laughing at me.”

Draco’s breath gusted against Harry’s cheek. “Oh, so you’re allowed to laugh at me after sex, but I’m not?” Draco muttered against his temple, his voice warm and his cock still hard as it pressed against Harry’s belly. 

Harry gasped a laugh of his own. “I wasn’t laughing at you that time, I was laughing at _me_!” 

“And now, so am I.” Draco kissed Harry’s temple to soften the words. 

Harry cringed, his cock still twitching and his breathing harsh. 

“Shit.” Harry dropped his head against the pillow, eyes still tightly shut. “That was so fast,” he said miserably. 

“It was,” Draco agreed, sitting up and smiling. He ran a hand up and down his own cock, Harry’s softening prick still inside him. 

“Sorry,” Harry said, making a face. 

Draco raised one brow. “Don’t be,” he said sincerely. He rocked his hips again, but Harry shook his head, rubbing at his forehead. 

“Shit. And you.” Harry shifted, moving his hand to Draco's stomach, towards his erection. “You didn’t. What do we.” Harry frowned at his own stammering, then exhaled sharply as Draco clenched his arse around Harry’s oversensitive prick. “What do we do now?” he managed this time, then licked his lips. “I want to make you come,” he said, feeling a little bit stupid at being so direct. From the way Draco’s chest flushed a ruddy pink, though, he didn’t mind. 

“You will.”

“How?” Harry asked, eager and still embarrassed. “What do we ―” 

“We wait,” answered Draco, his smile wide and hungry. Harry frowned. 

“For what?” 

Draco ran his fist up and down his prick, then clenched his arse again. “For you to get hard again.”

Harry laughed, in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Your heard me.” Draco made a face as he adjusted himself, slipping one hand behind him against Harry’s softening prick to keep it inside him. He pressed his tongue into his own cheek, smirking down at Harry. “I’m sure it won’t take you long.”

Harry raised both brows skeptically. “What makes you say that?” he asked. He wasn’t so sure himself; his dick was definitely not hard, and he knew it would be a good twenty minutes usually before he’d up for round two. Draco would surely get sick of waiting by then. 

“Surely the golden boy has some kind of magical refractory period,” Draco answered, tongue still pressed into his cheek. His face was flushed, alight with humour.

His face was flushed, alight with humour and Harry experimentally moved his hips, felt Draco clench around his sensitive cock. 

“Not that I'm aware of,” Harry murmured, his brow creasing slightly as Draco clenched his walls again. He wasn't moving much, not lifting off, just rocking forwards in slight shifts of his hips, his fingers holding Harry inside him. Harry gasped when Draco let them slip lower, down to cup his balls. 

Draco hummed as he rolled them in his hand, and Harry shut his eyes. 

He felt overstimulated, tired, lax, and sated, and still wound up all at once. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, feeling his cock twitch slightly inside Draco, his own come slipping out with each small rock of Draco's hips, with each cant forwards and slide back. 

“Fuck,” Harry murmured as his cock twitched again. The feeling was too much, too soon, the barrage of sensation stopping him from being able to catch his breath, for his pulse to steady. Harry wanted to chase it, he thought suddenly, and he almost laughed as he felt his prick thickening.

“Told you,” Draco said in a low voice. It was heavy with humour, teasing, but also rough, and Harry opened his eyes to see Draco fisting his own cock in slow movements. His face was deeply flushed, his hair damp at the temples as he moved with slightly more force with each rock, as Harry’s cock stirred inside him. Harry breathed out in surprise, moving his hips in time with Draco’s without even really realising it. The rhythm was slow, a mutual motion, and Harry ran his hands over Draco’s thighs, up to his hips. His stomach muscles worked as he pushed up into Draco, his cock half-hard and growing harder, slick with lube, with his own come. It was a wet and filthy grind, and Harry wanted more, his toes curling and his heels digging into the hard mattress.

Draco tilted his head back, still massaging at Harry’s balls. He slipped a finger lower, the tip just brushing over Harry's perineum, towards his cleft, and Harry's hips bucked up. 

“Oh my god.” Harry gasped as his cock twitched again, the jolt of pleasure both dulled by his previous orgasm, and almost unbearably good because of it.

 _“Told_ you,” Draco said again, closing his eyes and smiling as he lifted up and then sat down again. He let out a shaking breath. 

“That I would like that?” 

“No, that ― _ah_ ,” Draco rested his hand on Harry’s stomach, pushing back for more leverage, “that you’d get hard,” he ground out, brows creased in pleasure as he rode Harry’s cock. Harry watched him, wide eyed and dazed.

“Is that good?” Harry asked, fidgeting his hips up against Draco’s arse and running his hands over his sides, to his ribs. Draco nodded, hair falling forwards and over his collarbone as he pushed, seeking that same position again. His mouth dropped open when he found it, as he ground his arse down against Harry’s pelvis before lifting off again. Harry reached up impulsively, trailing his hand down Draco’s chest, from his throat to the base of his ribs. He let his fingers run over Draco's stomach, the line of his abdomen taut as he lifted himself in short movements then rolled his hips down just as quickly. Harry brushed his hand through the damp, wiry curls at Draco’s groin, pulled them gently between his fingers before he tentatively, experimentally, wrapped his hand around Draco’s cock. 

Draco gasped, the sound followed by a low groan as Harry moved his hand experimentally. Draco’s prick felt warm in his hands, hot and hard, and Harry moved his hand again, rubbing his palm over the head and then back down again. 

“Fuck,” Draco muttered quickly, shaking his hair away from his cheeks and placing both hands on Harry’s chest. “Fuck, keep doing that,” he hissed as he spread his legs wider, pushing back in quick, sharp jabs and riding Harry faster. 

Harry's breath gusted out of him in a rushed, staccato rhythm as he moved his hand again, running his thumb over the moisture at the head and then sliding it down lower. 

“Shit.” Harry dropped his head back against the mattress with a groan, hips lifting off the bed as he thrust up into Draco without thinking. They both moaned, low and loud, and Draco rose up on his knees so Harry could do it again. Draco pulled at his lip with his teeth, his eyes sliding closed on each thrust. Harry wanted to do the same, his balls tight and his cock aching with a steady and pulsating pleasure, but he kept his eyes open. He wanted to see the flush on Draco’s neck, the way his hair stuck to his damp cheeks and forehead before Draco brushed it away with a shaking hand. Harry had never seen anything more attractive, more enthralling, than the way Draco’s face worked as he gasped, or the crease between his brows and the low sounds he made from between his pressed lips. Harry bit back a loud, guttural sound himself, his hand tight on Draco’s hip, the other working his cock in a mirrored version of the way Harry liked to be touched himself. He moved his hand faster when he felt Draco’s prick twitch, his arse clenching around Harry’s erection. 

“Are you going to come?” Harry asked in a low rush. His hand was aching slightly from the angle, the pace, his cock stiff and oversensitive, and he didn't want to stop. He wanted to come, not to come, to go slower and faster all at once. He wanted to see Draco’s face when climax hit him—hear it, feel it. He moved his hand faster, revelling in the slight burn in his arm, letting it ground him. He wanted to see Draco _come_. “Are you going to ―”

Draco suddenly leaned forward, trapping Harry’s hand between him and cutting Harry off as he kissed him messily.

“Are you?” Draco asked desperately against Harry’s mouth, kissing over his jaw. One hand slid beneath Harry’s neck and into the tangle of his hair, pulling roughly as Draco bit at his lips, his breath hot and his tongue sliding against Harry’s. “Are you gonna come?” Draco asked again, quick and insistent. 

Harry groaned, leaning into the kiss and shaking his head in the best approximation of a non-verbal maybe he could manage in lieu of a proper answer. He didn't know if he would ― could ― come again so quickly, and he groaned again as Draco tightened the hand in his hair, pulling his head back so he could kiss at his neck. Harry arched into it, knuckles bumping against the firm line of Draco’s stomach, his other hand cupping Draco’s arse and pulling him forwards even as Harry thrust up into him further. 

“You can,” Draco said thickly, mouthing over the cords of Harry’s neck and moaning softly as Harry kneaded at his arse cheek, pushing up into him in quick thrusts. “You can.” 

“Fuck, Draco ―” Harry arched his neck as Draco feverishly bit at his throat again, light nips followed by wet kisses. 

“You can.”

“Uh!”

“Do you want to?” 

“ _Yes_.” 

“Fuck.” Draco pulled up, kissing Harry deep and dirty before pulling away entirely. Harry groaned desperately, gripping Draco’s side and trying to pull him back towards him, to feel his skin against his chest again, his lips against his neck. 

Harry keened again, low and needy, when Draco pulled up and off his cock entirely.

“Draco, wha ―”

“Sit up, sit up,” Draco said quickly, frantically, pulling at Harry’s shoulder and Harry struggled to comply. He pushed onto his elbows, then his hands, Draco sitting between the spread of Harry’s legs, his thighs over Harry’s, calves beside Harry’s hips. 

“Like this? O _h_.” Harry broke off on a low, strangled sound as Draco quickly wrapped his hand around Harry’s prick, moving his fist up and down in rapid motions. “Oh, fuck, _oh_.” Harry tightened his hands in the thin sheet beneath him, hips bucking up as he thrust into Draco’s hand. 

“Yeah.” Draco kissed him again, inching forwards and pressing his knees to Harry’s sides then letting his legs fall loose again. He moved one hand back to Harry’s hair, pulling it in time with the fidget of his hips, his cock hard and glistening as it curved away from his body. Harry stared down at it, mouth open as his gaze flicked from Draco’s face to his cock, as Harry shakily moved his weight onto one hand before he sat up completely so he could pull at Draco’s cock. 

Draco hissed from between his gritted teeth, his eyes slipping shut and head tipping back. “Yes,” he groaned, his heels skidding on the sheets as he pushed up into Harry’s fist, one hand on the bed beside him and the other still stripping Harry’s cock. “Yes, keep, ah, _yes_.”

Harry kissed the line of Draco’s neck, Draco’s throat working as he moaned, deep, low vibrations of sound against Harry’s lips. Harry’s breath hitched, his knees crooking and his back curving forward as he kissed Draco’s Adam's apple, the dip of his throat, teeth and lips against hot and salty skin. His cock was aching, the sweep of Draco's hand rough and perfect over his overstimulated flesh, and Harry followed his pace as he worked Draco's cock, moving his free hand down to his balls. Draco gasped, a hard intake of breath, and Harry rolled them in his hand, his hot forehead pressed against the crook of Draco’s neck. Impulsively, he slipped his hand lower.

“Oh, fu ― ahh!” Draco’s hips lifted off the bed as Harry slipped two fingers inside him. He was loose, pliant, even as he clenched down around them, and Harry tilted his face up, mouthing mindlessly at Draco's smooth jaw before he pulled back. He worked his fingers quickly, kissing Draco's jaw, his chin, then his lips. Harry felt Draco’s thighs against his own, tightened as he lifted himself up, pushing himself up into Harry’s fist, almost into his lap, before pushing back against his fingers. 

“Oh, fuck, I'm ―” Draco stilled, his body tense and his hand losing its rhythm on Harry’s cock. “I’m ―”

“Yes,” Harry gasped, tilting his head back so he could watch Draco’s face. “Yes, I want you to ―” 

“Oh, _fuck_.” 

“ _Yes_.” Harry moved his hand faster, eyes locked on Draco’s face as Draco’s eyes slammed shut, his mouth open in a wide and soundless O, before he gasped, high and loud. His cock pulsed in Harry’s hand, his shoulders tensing and his expression almost pained as he came over Harry’s fingers in a warm rush. His hand was slack and loose as he tried to fist Harry’s cock, his arse clenching around Harry’s fingers, and Harry groaned, sudden and startlingly loud as he felt the low, throb of pleasure that had been building inside him suddenly peak. Harry shut his eyes, head falling forwards until his forehead connected with Draco’s collarbone, his shoulders jerking as his cock pulsed and he came, almost dry, against Draco’s slack fingers. Harry keened, mouthing over the jut of Draco’s clavicle, his head spinning as he felt Draco’s cock spurt again over his fingers, his breath hot and rapid over Harry’s ear, lifting his hair. 

“Fuck,” Draco gasped, swallowing loudly and breathing through his nose. Harry grunted in reply, mouthing blindly against Draco’s skin, and struggling for air. He grunted again when Draco shifted slightly, letting Harry slip his fingers free. Draco’s breath hitched as he did so, and Harry looked down at his hands ― at his slick fingers as he rested them on Draco’s thigh, at the ropes of pearly come on his other hand as he released Draco’s softening prick. 

_Mess_ , Harry thought dizzily, licking his lips. He felt messy, sitting upright and in a tangle of legs with Draco on a foreign bed, in a foreign country in the middle of the night ― messy, and tired, and _brilliant_. Harry slowly dragged his head up to look at Draco. 

He rolled his fingers together, lips twitching up slightly when he saw the slow flush deepen over Draco’s cheeks, his eyes heavy lidded and locked on Harry as his breathing steadied. Slowly, curious and still dizzy with the throb of his orgasm, Harry brought his come-covered fingers to his lips. Draco’s eyes darkened, his mouth dropping open as Harry did the same, then ran his fingertip over his own bottom lip.

Harry flicked his tongue out against the pad of his crooked middle finger, glancing down before he did it again. Bitter, he thought, flicking his tongue out a second time. Draco’s come tasted bitter and strange, and not entirely pleasant. Harry liked it. 

He started when Draco suddenly grabbed his wrist, pulling his fingers away from his lips and kissing him hard and deep. His knees came up against Harry’s sides, his hands rough in Harry’s hair as he bit at his lips, tongue sliding over Harry’s lips, where his fingers had been, before he pulled back, his eyes fierce. His fingers were still locked tight around Harry’s wrist, his breathing rough. His hair was messy, the usually neat and straight fall of it tangled in places. It made him look softer somehow, Harry thought suddenly, even though Draco’s eyes were bright and his face as pointed and sharp as ever. Everything about Draco was hard lines and angles, but Harry thought the mess of soft hair, the colour on Draco’s cheeks and the open curve of his lips, made him seem more accessible somehow. Harry wondered if he looked the same to Draco, sitting naked and messy in front of him. He knew his hair must be sticking up in places, curling over his neck in damp tendrils. He knew his face had as many sharp lines as Draco’s, if not as many angles, that he could be coarse and rough and guarded as often as he could be kind or easy, but he hoped that wasn't how he seemed now. He hoped he looked open. 

“Good?” Harry asked abruptly, his voice rough and chest tight. Draco’s eyes flicked from Harry's, down to his mouth and then back again. He nodded, slowly, hand moving down Harry’s jaw until his thumb came to rest just under Harry’s Adam’s apple. 

“Good,” he replied, running his thumb back and forth over Harry’s skin, then down to the dip of his throat. He traced the line of the Harry’s collarbone, eyes meeting Harry’s. 

Draco's mouth was red, lips flushed, and Harry tilted his head, not breaking eye contact. He brushed his mouth against Draco’s, slowly, then did it again when Draco sighed softly into it. Again, Harry pressed forward, kissing him softly. Draco worked his fingers over the nape of Harry’s neck, up into his hair and then back down again. His legs brushed Harry’s sides as he moved closer, as Harry moved his free hand around Draco’s back, still kissing him with soft swipes of his mouth. He clenched his other hand, his wrist still held in Draco’s grip, and Draco pulled away briefly to glance down at it and mutter the now-familiar cleaning spell. 

“Thanks,” Harry muttered, but Draco only kissed him again in reply, shifting until he was almost sitting in Harry's lap, his legs bent down beside them. Draco lifted up onto his knees, Harry hands smoothing down his sides to his arse and cupping it as Draco tipped Harry back against the haphazard pillows before laying down on top of him. His cock was soft and warm against Harry's belly, his hand still under Harry's head, tilting his head up, and Harry arched into, still kissing him like he’d only just discovered it. _We could have been doing this the whole time_ , Harry thought suddenly, moving his hands in soft strokes, letting Draco kiss him deeper. His body felt hot against Harry’s, tacky with sweat, and his hair kept falling into both of their faces. Harry cupped Draco's jaw, left it there even as Draco kissed messily over his cheek, then to his ear, his cheek bone. He stopped at Harry's temple. 

“We need to sleep,” he whispered roughly against the skin. 

Harry nodded, sighing when Draco fit his thigh between Harry's legs, against his soft prick. It felt nice, comforting, the weight welcome against his oversensitive skin. Harry moved his hand over Draco's jaw, the other low on the small of Draco's back. 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, feeling heavy and tired. He wrinkled his nose when Draco's hair fell over his face, then blew at it. It fell right back over Harry’s lips, and he swatted at it, then felt rather than heard Draco low chuckle as he lay his head down next to Harry's. 

“Fucking hair,” Draco said quietly, his voice low with impending sleep. 

“It's long,” Harry said unnecessarily, brushing it away from Draco's shoulder as it lay across Harry's chest.

“Mm. Too long.” Draco shifted, getting comfortable before pulling the discarded blanket over them both. Harry slipped an arm around his shoulders, keeping him in place lest he should suddenly remember there was more than one bed in the room, that they didn't need to share tonight. Harry was aware of it himself, had been all night, but he wanted this ― the comfort and heat of skin on skin, of Draco’s arm across his chest, even the tickle of his hair in Harry's face. Harry wanted all of it. 

“I haven't really cut it in about two years. Maybe longer,” Draco suddenly added. His voice was quiet, soft, but pronounced. It seemed important for some reason, the announcement, the specific remembrance of months, and Harry stilled, counting back the months in his head. He stopped when he got there. 

“Why?” Harry asked in an equally soft tone, letting his eyes fall shut as he moved his hand to hold Draco's bicep. Draco shrugged, his shoulder moving against Harry's chest. 

“Couldn't do it myself,” he answered, voice muffled slightly as he tipped his face into Harry's throat. “Had no wand. Didn't want anyone else to do it either. So I just,” Draco waved a loose hand at his head, “just let it grow. Mum kept offering, father kept insisting I do something with it, but that just made me want to let it grow more.” Draco licked his lips, tongue brushing against Harry’s skin briefly. “And I just didn't want anyone that close to me, pointing wands at my head,” he confessed. “I look after it as much as I have to, keep the ends neat, but. It's getting long,” he said softly. “I should do something about it.” 

“Do you want me to cut it for you?” Harry offered, before he could stop himself. He bit his lip, internally cringing and outwardly flushing. There was no way that Draco would agree to that, would want that. Harry braced himself for the scathing remark about his own hair, how Draco would never allow anyone with such an unkempt mop near his own fine hair, how if he wasn't willing to let his parents do it he wouldn't let _Harry_ of all people do it, but it didn't come. Instead, Draco turned his face further into Harry's neck, nose against the soft spot just under his jaw. He exhaled deeply, his body relaxing further against Harry. 

“Maybe, yeah,” Draco said after another long moment. He sighed against Harry’s skin, his breath a warm and soft gust, and Harry left his hand on Draco's arm, fingers gentle even though he wanted to tighten them. 

“Okay,” he murmured back softly, shutting his eyes and letting his cheek rest against Draco's head. Draco made a soft sound of reply, his breathing even and rhythmic with sleep, and Harry listened to the sound of it, pacing his own breathing to Draco's and searching underneath it for the dull and slow throb of his heartbeat, the thrum of his pulse as it ebbed along the bonded heartlines running between them. 

Harry let his eyes fall shut when he found it.

~*~


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There is some violence and mention of blood/injury in this chapter. Please feel free to message me on Tumblr if you would like more info or details or spoilers if that bothers you!! <3

Harry dreamt he had wings. 

They were soft and large, and darkest black like the rest of his sleek body. He felt light, his wings casting shadows on the ground far beneath him as the cold air lifted him higher. The wind ran between each feather, brushing over his skin. It felt nice, comforting, safe. He felt like he’d spent his life in the air, and a lifetime before that, and another before that as well. He felt like he knew these currents, and his eyes were sharp as he scanned the ground below him. 

The landscape was familiar, and yet strange at the same time. He recognised the shape of the mountains, the dip of the valleys, though the trees were thicker and the streams of water more wild. Harry remembered the taste of the blueberries he’d eaten days prior as he soared over the tangled patch, the sprawl of fruiting plants unruly and unhindered. Sharp, and sweet, and sometimes sour; Harry recalled every bite. He let himself fly closer, the memory singing on his tastebuds. There were no landmarks here anymore; all of the signs Harry and Draco has used to guide their way were gone. Empty, Harry thought, the land was empty of all human presence. 

And in its place, magic teemed. 

Harry could taste it on his tongue, feel it over the hard skin of his claws. It was on the breeze as it glanced past his unblinking eyes, in his lungs as he gulped the air down. Sharper than the freshest berry, and sourer than the youngest, Harry knew the taste of old magic; dirt and grit and power. He wanted to wash his body in it, feel it tingle on his skin, but something told him to be wary. The land and trees and rocky mountains stretched out endlessly around him, and Harry knew every rocky outcrop, every sharp edge and smooth plane of stone. But the land didn't know him. It looked back up at him, solemn and indifferent, old and at the same time ageless. It shimmered with a haze of power, uncontained and incorporeal like a wave of heat on a distant horizon. It disorientated Harry, and beckoned him without motive. He knew it would swallow him whole, that the land didn't care if he lived or died, no more than he cared if his talons crushed the new berries when he perched on gnarled vines and tore the flesh with his beak. 

The ground would keep turning, the plates of the earth grinding as his body turned to dust. He was inconsequential, in the wave of power the dirt and roots and roiling water produced. He curled his claws, felt the air crackle with magic around him as he dipped lower. He was inconsequential, an unnoticed speck on the magic’s timeless march. 

But if he was careful, he could ride it. 

The sun rose late this time of year, and soon it wouldn't rise at all. Harry stretched his wings in a smooth glide as he circled lower, towards the cold ground. He passed the blueberries, the copse of trees nearby. The mountain peak, capped in white and glinting in the moonlight, told Harry where he was, and he swooped low enough to brush one wingtip against the branch of the tallest tree, before he cleared the trees entirely. The valley was stark and bare, and Harry saw what he was looking for. 

Below him, the figures walked.  
Harry’d seen them before, but he didn't know their names. They were larger than any creature he’d ever seen, their scent vague and unclear. Their skin was gnarled and old, transparent in one light and dark as old bark in another. They walked in a crooked single file, voices silent but footsteps loud as they shook the ground beneath them. Harry wanted to skim his wings across the shoulders, to recklessly fly closer, but he kept his distance; he wasn't sure what would happen if they looked at him back, if they noticed him. He flew as low as he dared, then circled the figure at the head of the line. 

Cobwebbed hair as thin as wisps tangled over its neck, its back, as its shoulders heaved with every step. It's hands were gnarled, knuckles the size of boulders, and stained red. On each shoulder, hanging limp and warm from the figures grip, was the body of an elk. Their antlers clacked against hard skin with every step, a slow track of blood running from their heads and over the figure’s back, down to each thigh. Harry felt hungry at the sight of it, the scent thick and enticing. He knew he had followed these figures before, as they carved their sites into the earth, digging the magic up to the surface. Harry knew he could get close to it, if he followed them.  
He knew there’d be fresh meat in their wake. 

Some of the figures carried stones in their hands, rocks as tall as the tallest of men, as they walked towards the valley. _I'm going there_ , Harry thought, as the wind cooled around him. _I'm going into the valley_. They were hard to find, these old creatures. The birds that flew at Harry’s side hadn’t seen them in years; they watched with hungry curiosity. Harry wanted to see them closer, to count the crags of their skin, but he knew he was already close enough. The air shook around him with a steady thrum and ebb, each footstep as rhythmic as a slow pulse. Harry could smell blood on the breeze, could feel the sting of magic against his eyes as the beat of his wings turned erratic. He was too close, the currents too strong. 

He knew that they could see him. 

The figures craned their faces up, their expressions dim and distant. Their eyes were large, dark, and doe-like. _Sad_ , Harry thought, as he fought for balance. They looked sad, but he couldn't think around the stink of blood, the smell of the dying animals as they rested on the Jotun's shoulders. It stung his throat, thick, cloying, and all around him. Blood, and blood, and blood. The scent was maddening, terrifying as it washed over black feathers in a pulse as steady and soft as a heartbeat, as the jötnar watched him sadly. He shouldn't have looked, Harry thought frantically, spiraling towards the ground. All he could smell was _blood_. He shouldn't have touched the magic. 

_He shouldn't have let it see him._

“Harry.”

Harry jolted as he felt a pinch at his side, before he sagged back against the mattress. He nuzzled into the sheets, warm and only dimly awake, his dream slipping away into indistinct images. Birds, figures, stones, blood. Harry wrinkled his nose, but he was used to odd dreams, to nightmares, even though that one had been strange even for him. Already he could feel it becoming vague, the details forgotten, as he curled his toes contentedly under the blankets. He liked it when he dreamt he was flying, though, even if his mouth tasted strange now, metallic. He wanted to brush his teeth. He pressed his face against the pillow instead. 

“Were you dreaming?” Draco asked softly, voice still thick with sleep and one hand on Harry’s back. Harry nodded, mouth open as his breathing grew slow and steady. The dream wasn't important. Already Harry could barely remember it. The room was dark, and Harry was warm, the blankets soft against him and Draco’s body close ― 

Harry jumped when Draco pinched him again. 

“Don’t go back to sleep,” Draco whispered, with sleepy glee. “We need to get up.”

“‘S still dark,” Harry muttered, frowning and burrowing his face into the pillow. He sighed into it, still sleepy and relaxed and refusing to wake up. Harry sighed again as he felt Draco clamber over him, his naked skin brushing over Harry’s back, his legs over Harry’s legs. Harry flushed, feeling his face heat and his stomach lurch at the reminder of what they’d done. He pressed his lips against the pillow, keeping eyes shut as he momentarily pushed back against Draco. He thought he felt the press of lips against the back of his hair, a kiss against his nape, but all too soon the contact was gone, and he was alone in the bed. 

Harry started when the blankets were ripped away him, exposing his skin to the cold air. 

“We have to get going,” Draco announced, equally naked and standing next to the mattress. The blankets, half ripped off the bed, dangled from his hand as he looked down at Harry’s still-prone form. “If we want to make it to the marker in time, that is.”

Harry groaned, pushing up onto his hands with exaggerated effort. “It's still dark,” he repeated, blinking his eyes wide and trying to force himself into alertness. It wasn't working. 

“Yes, and it will become dark once more if you don't drag your sorry rear out of bed, Potter.” Draco crossed his arms as he smiled down at Harry. His hair was tangled, slight bags under his sleepy eyes as he waited for Harry to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed. Harry felt stiff, sore, his muscles aching from the previous day’s walk and his head fuzzy from not enough sleep. Harry felt his stomach flutter at the memory of why, of what they’d been doing. He didn't want to walk again, he thought grumpily. He wanted to stay in bed instead, to map his hands over Draco’s body, down his back and over his thighs. He wanted to taste his skin again, to feel Draco’s lips against his own. 

Harry opened his mouth to speak ― to ask Draco if they really needed to be up at 4am, if they could maybe lie down together a little bit longer ― but as soon as Harry looked up, Draco turned and walked out the room. 

Harry watched Draco’s retreating back in sleepy, dumb confusion. He was still confused, and more than half-asleep, a few minutes later when Draco emerged from the small toilet, and padded softly into the bathroom. He flicked a glance at Harry before he disappeared from view, his voice sailing out of the room and echoing softly against the dull tiles as he called out to Harry. 

“Are you having a shower with me, or what?”

Harry was up and half-across across the room before he’d really even processed the question. 

The cabin’s shower wasn't built for two people, let alone people their height. Draco was already under the stream, smoothing his wet hair back when Harry stepped in to join him, sliding the plastic curtain across and then pushing it back when it stuck to both his and Draco’s calves. 

“I bloody hate these things,” he grumbled, the shower spray warm against his back as he held the curtain away from them for long enough for it to stay put. 

“They do seem unnecessary, yes,” Draco agreed, running one hand over his face. 

“No, they serve a purpose.” Harry tipped his head back so he could feel the water run down his forehead and over his cheeks. 

“Which is to stick to the shower occupant’s legs?”

Harry tilted his head back down. He opened his eyes to see Draco’s smiling face. “No, it's,” Harry gestured at the floor, careful not to touch the shower curtain, “to stop the water getting on the floor.” 

Draco’s lip twitched up higher. “The floor which is currently being saturated by the steady drip of water from the curtain?”

Harry laughed, loud in the quiet bathroom. “Yeah.” He swallowed as Draco leaned forwards, reaching behind Harry to grab the small bar of soap Harry had packed with him. Harry held his breath as their chests pressed together, let it out slowly when Draco didn't step away again. 

“As I said,” Draco's lips brushed Harry’s jaw as he ran the soap over Harry’s hip, “unnecessary.” 

Harry made a soft sound, nodding absently as he felt his cock stir between his legs, felt the press of Draco’s prick against it. Draco wasn't hard, but he was getting there, the hang of his cock heavy and warm. Harry stepped a little closer into it, blinking the water out of his eyes as he tilted his face to brush his lips against Draco’s. It wasn't a kiss, just the softest press of mouths, but Harry delighted in the fact that he could do it, was allowed to kiss Draco. Draco sighed when Harry did it again, the water running over them both, warm on Harry’s back and shoulders. He slipped a hand to Harry’s hip, ran the soap over his skin, up to his back. 

Harry’d never showered with anyone before. Locker rooms, of course, were a staple of Hogwarts, and in the Auror training course as well. Harry was used to being naked and showering in the presence of other people. It had never fazed him, but this felt already impossibly intimate, the heat of the water both waking Harry up and relaxing him further. No one had ever washed him before, Harry thought, the soap lathering as Draco ran it over Harry’s skin. No one had ever touched him like that. 

Harry turned his face into Draco’s cheek as Draco smoothed his hands over his back, then moved them to Harry’s chest. The water washed the soap away almost as quickly as Draco ran it over him, and Harry exhaled thickly against Draco’s wet skin. He placed a hand on either hip, fingertips just on the curve of Draco’s arse and Draco hummed. He stepped closer, rolled his hips against Harry’s erection. He did it again when Harry moaned softly. 

“Are you sore?” Harry asked suddenly, hands still on the curve of Draco’s buttocks. “From last night. From.” Harry didn't finish, fingers tightening slightly before he let them relax. 

Draco made another contemplative sound, lathering the soap one last time before putting it back onto the small holder. He shook his head, running the back of his soapy knuckles over Harry’s stomach, down to his hip. 

“No,” Draco murmured, lips against the ridge of Harry’s cheek bone; Harry turned his face into it further, breath hitching as Draco moved his fingers to the head of his cock. “I can feel it, though.” 

Harry groaned, Draco’s fist moving in a smooth glide down his prick, and then up again. “Feel it?” Harry asked, trying not to buck up against Draco, to give away how turned on he was from something as small, as innocuous, as Draco running soap over his skin. 

“Yeah.” Draco moved his hand faster, then made an encouraging sound when Harry moved to do the same. Harry liked the weight of Draco’s erection in his hand, he thought as he bit his lips on another groan, Draco’s hand working him over in quick, perfect motions. He liked the way all of Draco felt against him, around him. He kissed at Draco’s neck, mouth open on a shuddering exhale when Draco talked again. 

“I like that I can still feel it,” Draco said breathily. “Tight, with each step.” 

Harry groaned, low and loud before he could stop it. Draco gusted a soft laugh, his hand sliding lower on the small of Harry’s back before it dipped between his cheeks. He pressed the base of his hand against Harry’s arse, his finger there ― _there_ ― but not moving further, not pressing forwards. Just a touch, Harry thought, but it was making him feel dizzy at the promise of what could happen. He wanted to know how that felt, the day after, to know what Draco was describing. Harry’d never given much thought to doing that before, beyond a vague apprehension and an idea that it would be painful, something he’d have to work up to being able to enjoy, but Draco didn’t make it seem like that, and he doubted Draco would lie about that. Harry trusted him not to. He thought about how Draco’s face had looked as Harry thrust inside him, the sounds he’d made and the way he’d arched his back for more. Harry trusted Draco to make it feel as good for Harry as it had felt for him, to make it _good_ for him. The realisation was striking, shuddering through him, and Harry kissed at Draco’s neck, his cock twitching and his breath hitching on each inhale, gasping out of him in a noisy bursts.

“You’re so noisy,” Draco said, smiling ecstatically as he panted slightly himself, shoulder bumping against Harry’s as he moved his hand between them. 

“Sorry,” Harry muttered, head against Draco's shoulder as he pumped his fist faster over Draco’s prick, or tried to; his coordination was shot to pieces, his legs already slightly wobbly. 

“Don’t you dare apologise,” Draco licked at his neck, working his hand. “Or try to be quiet. Make noise,” he rumbled, biting at Harry’s ear and twisting his hand as Harry tried and failed to stifle another loud groan. “Make noise, Harry, _fuck_ ,” Draco inhaled sharply, legs bending slightly as Harry gasped into his neck, as he worked his fist over the head of Draco’s cock. “God, you sound so fucking hot.” 

“Oh shit,” Harry keened, his hand turning slack as he felt his cock twitch, his balls high and tight. “Keep talking,” he blurted, mouthing at Draco’s skin.

“Make noise, Harry,” Draco whispered roughly, slipping his finger further between Harry’s cheeks. Harry gasped, the sound echoing in the tiled room as Draco ran the pad of his finger over Harry’s hole. Harry bucked his hips back against Draco’s finger, forwards into his fist as it worked his cock. He felt so close, the pleasure skittering down his spine and tingling in the backs of his knees. He pressed his chest against Draco’s as his toes curled against the wet tiles, as Draco licked the shell of his ear. 

“Scream if you need to, Harry.”

Harry shouted as he came. 

“Oh, _fu_ ―” Harry braced one hand against the wall of the shower, fingers skidding as he bucked against Draco, mouthing nonsense into his skin. 

“Yes,” Draco crooned, arching his back and pushing forwards against Harry even as Harry’s hand still worked him over. “Yes, fuck, you’re so, _so_ ― _oh_.” Draco’s eyes slammed shut, his mouth open as his lips twitched up into a euphoric smile before he came over Harry’s loose hand, in long and heady pulses. His hips bucked, his arm slipping around Harry’s shoulders as they rocked against each other, bodies sliding until they slowly stilled, their breathing hard and only slowly growing calmer. 

Harry let himself enjoy it, the water massaging his tired muscles and Draco all but holding him up, for a long and slow moment. Draco leant them both back against the wall. Harry started slightly at the cold press of the tiles against his back, and then again when something touched his leg. Harry looked down, confused, when he felt the same. He made a face when he realised what it was, the felt the unmistakable press of the shower curtain against his leg, the steam from the water drawing it close them. 

“Bloody hell,” Harry murmured batting it back with a shaky hand. 

“You know,” Draco began, conversational and still a little out of breath. “I really must tell mother to install some of these at the Manor,” Draco deadpanned, eyes still shut but lips smiling slightly. “Really adds to the mood of one’s shower, especially with a partner, wouldn't you say?” 

Draco’s cheeks were pink from the shower, his chest and neck flushed too, and Harry kissed them, then did it again.

“Yeah,” Harry laughed, pushing his hair away from his face, and trying not to look as giddy as he felt at Draco referring to him as a ‘partner’. He knew Draco didn’t mean it like that, but Harry couldn’t stop the lurch of _something_ in his chest all the same. He didn’t even bother to try. “You could get fancy ones,” Harry went on. “Well, I assume you could. With…” Harry waved a shaky hand. “Swans and figs on them, or posh mice.” 

“Posh _mice_?” 

“Yeah, in little waistcoats.”

Draco puffed a surprised laugh. “It must be very odd, being inside your head.” He flicked a warm glance at Harry, then shook his head in mock exasperation. 

_You have no idea_ , Harry thought, as he recalled the nightmare under the ice, then the blood running from the wounded elks’ heads ― of the times when he hadn't known what was real, and what thoughts were his own. Posh mice were nothing, really. Harry grinned slightly lopsidedly and Draco returned it. He held his hand out under the stream as he let it wash the mess on his fingers away. 

“Well. Swans and figs.” Draco sniffed. “I don't think so,” he said haughtily, sidestepping Harry to duck under the stream again. “Peacocks and pomegranates, surely,” Draco said. “Upper-class rodents in waistcoats optional,” he added, looking playfully over his shoulder. Harry laughed, pushing his hair out of his eyes and trying to keep his hands off of Draco’s back. 

It took them another five minutes to get out of the shower when Harry failed to do so. 

“Tell me, Potter,” Draco said as they towelled themselves dry and then dressed quickly. “How exactly it is that you managed to make it to nearly twenty without having sex, considering you seem to be gagging for it all the time now.” He was smiling, his eyes bright and his hair brushed in two wet lines on either side of his face, and Harry laughed. 

“Piss off,” he said softly, feeling himself blush. “Like you're any better,” he retorted, running the heel of his palm over his hot cheek. 

Draco's grin didn't waver. “That's not what I asked.” 

“I know.” Harry pulled his top over his head, then settled his glasses onto his face. He eyed his reflection in the mirror, the features clearer now. Draco stood next to him, his eyes big behind his too-large glasses, watching Harry watch himself. They were silent as Harry contemplated his reply, as Draco possibly wondered why Harry was taking so long to think of a retort to his ostensibly playful quip about his love life. For some reason, though, Harry felt his answer was important.

“Just like doing this with you,” Harry said after a moment, sniffing and looking down to cover his embarrassment ― not at what he felt, exactly but at saying it out loud. He felt exposed, and a little bit stupid, and at the same a little bit proud of himself, too. He straightened the hem of his t-shirt, then set his shoulders, looking up and meeting his own eyes in the mirror. He was happy with what he saw, he thought, even if he’d just massively overplayed his hand. Slowly, he turned to see Draco’s expression, looking at his face rather than the reflected version in the mirror. 

“You mean sex,” Draco said, a statement in lieu of a question. His voice was soft, his arms folded across his middle as he leant against the side of the frosted glass shower wall. There was a slight crease between his brows, his expression curious rather than offended. Curious, and something else, Harry thought, something tentative and fleeting that Harry thought looked like hope. He couldn’t be sure, though; he wasn't used to seeing that expression on Draco’s face. 

“Yes,” Harry said quietly, after another moment's thought. He rested his hand on the basin of the sink, choosing his words carefully. He licked his lips, sliding one finger over the porcelain before he spoke again. “The emphasis is sort of on the you part, though,” he said, looking up at Draco through his still-damp fringe. “I like doing this with you.”

Harry didn't know what to call the look that ran over Draco’s face. His brow was still creased, deeper than before, as if he was trying to make sense of something he didn't entirely understand. He didn't look confused though, his lips slanting up at the corners into a smile that it looked like Draco was trying to contain. Draco cleared his throat, arms still around his middle, before he pushed away from the shower wall. His face was hot, and his lips hard, as he lurched forwards and pressed them against Harry’s cheek in the roughest approximation of a kiss Harry’d ever felt. 

“Same,” Draco whispered hoarsely, his lips against Harry’s skin. He swallowed audibly, his breathing shallow, and Harry held his breath, not trusting himself to reply. He felt Draco turn into him further, arms still folded across his middle, but pressed close to Harry. He kissed Harry’s cheek again, his own face still hot and flushed, and then kissed him again on his ear. 

“I’m going to make food,” he croaked, rubbing his newly shaven cheek against Harry’s before quickly pulling back and walking out the room. 

Harry nodded, rubbing his neck, and then his cheek. He stayed in the bathroom a little longer, trying to collect himself and giving Draco enough time to do the same, before he slowly padded out, barefoot and almost dizzy from the ecstatic roll of happiness in his stomach. 

Breakfast was disgusting. 

“Don’t look at me,” Draco said as he passed Harry the bowl of thick and grey porridge. “It’s filling, and hot and it’s all we have.” His face was still pink in places, an uneven blush that Harry thought he was probably wearing himself, and he took the bowl silently, sitting down opposite Draco at the tiny table. They ate in silence, as the wind whistled outside and it waited for the sun to rise and the last of the rain to stop falling. 

“Was it the bond?” Harry blurted as he dipped his spoon into the stodgy porridge. It wasn’t half bad, after he’d laced it with honey pilfered from the back of the cupboard. 

Draco frowned at him. “Was what the bond?”

“Is that how you knew I was dreaming this morning?” Harry clarified, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Did it, you know. Go off again.”

“Oh.” Draco shook his head in understanding. “No, no nothing like that. You just. I was awake, and you were making this noise, like. Really quiet, but still.” Draco cleared his throat. “You do this with your hands, too.” Draco held his right hand up, then flexed it in soft clenching motions. “So, I thought maybe it was a dream.” He picked up his spoon again, tucking his hair behind his ear. “That’s all.”

“Right.” Harry nodded, moving to take another bite of his porridge. He stopped, spoon halfway to his mouth. “So you were awake?” he asked slowly. 

Draco nodded, nonplussed. 

“And you were…” Harry sat up a little straighter, still frowning as his lips twitched up into a smile. “Wait, so were you watching me _slee_ ―” 

“No,” Draco interrupted quickly. “Shut up.” Draco glanced at him, then away again, cheeks colouring. “I was just awake, that’s all.” He licked his lips, taking a large gulp of his water and then setting the glass back down on the table, slightly louder than intended. His shoulders slumped and he rolled his eyes, when he looked up and saw Harry still grinning at him. “I was just awake,” he insisted. 

Harry looked back down, smirking at his porridge as he sank his spoon down further into its gluggy depths. “Sure you were.”

“Oh, piss off, Harry,” Draco shot back without rancor. The flush on his cheeks had deepened, and he looked dangerously close to smiling. “Eat your stupid breakfast,” Draco said. “We need to start walking about ten minutes ago.” Draco took another spoonful himself, his eyes warm even as he tried to glare at Harry. 

Harry's face hurt from smiling as he did the same. 

Outside, it finally stopped raining.

~*~

“The first thing I’m going to do when I get home,” Draco announced as they stepped out of the cabin, “is have a bath, and then set fire to these boots.” He looked at Harry as he locked the door, rucksack high on his shoulders. “And then burn this rucksack, too. While eating the largest bowl of vegetables imaginable.”

Harry laughed, stepping lightly down the small wooden steps. “Missing fresh food, huh?”

“Unimaginably.” Draco closed his eyes. “Fresh food and decent shoes and _robes_.”

“Not a fan of the trousers jumper bombo, then?” Harry said playfully. 

Draco shot him an unimpressed look. “Trousers are fine, but this.” Draco waved a hand at his light grey jumper, the hood up over his head to keep his ears warm. “Is a poor substitute for a decent outdoor robe.”

“Why didn’t you wear a robe, then?” Harry asked, treading lightly down the steps so as not to slip; they were hard, worn wood, and still wet, the rain only recently passed. 

“Because, Harry, one does not hike in a robe,” Draco said crisply. 

“Oh, does one not?” replied Harry facetiously, in a poor attempt to mimic Draco’s accent. He was pants at accents, but it earned him a half-hearted glare from Draco so Harry felt it was entirely worth it. 

“No.” Draco’s voice was stern, but his face was relaxed. “You pillock,” he added, almost fondly, as Harry stomped onto the wet grass, careful to avoid a large puddle. “Besides, can you imagine trying to explain that to any Muggles we met along the way?” Draco grinned, tongue pressed into his cheek. 

Harry made a face. “What, like ‘oh, don’t mind me, I’m just out for a stroll in dragonhide boots and a casual, embroidered robe.” 

Draco sniffed. “Well, it wouldn't be _embroidered_ , necessarily,” he muttered. 

Harry clicked his tongue. “But the boots would be dragonhide?”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” Draco shot back, straightening his shoulders and smiling as he overtook Harry. 

Draco grinned wider when Harry laughed, loud and easy, but then abruptly stopped when he turned to look back at the cabin. Confused, Harry turned as well to follow Draco’s gaze. His smile slipped off his face as he saw the top of the cabin.

Silent and black against the grey pre-dawn sky, and perched haphazardly across the small cabin’s roof, sat the ravens. Harry blinked in surprise, silently counting them as they regarded him with an almost unnerving stillness. 

“Twelve,” Harry muttered. “Bloody hell, that’s twelve now.” Harry swallowed uneasily as he involuntarily stepped back, shoulder bumping against Draco’s. 

“Merlin,” Draco grumbled, lip curling in distaste. “This is just getting ridiculous now.” He rested a hand on one hip, grey eyes scanning the group of birds. “Not to mention fucking creepy.” 

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, unsettled by the birds’ presence in a way he hadn’t felt before. Perhaps it was his previous night’s dream, he thought, as vague images flitted across his mind, but he didn't think it was that. He’d just never seen birds act like this, sitting so still and quiet and unmistakably grouped together, before. It was deeply unsettling. “Maybe they’re just sleeping,” he said, as much to himself as to Draco, as they stood side by side and watched the dark cabin. 

“Sleeping with their eyes open?” Draco responded, unimpressed. As if to further prove Harry wrong, the largest raven ruffled its feathers, it’s silvery eyes open and very much focussed on Harry. The other ravens followed suit, a ripple of feather coursing through them as they silently stirred. Harry had the overwhelming urge to step back again. 

“That’s a lot more than yesterday,” he said instead, forcing himself to stay where he was. 

Draco made a soft sound of agreement. “That’s a whole bloody murder of them.”

“A what?”

“A murder,” Draco repeated, then waved a hand. “You know, isn’t a group of ravens a ―”

“No, that’s crows,” Harry corrected softly. “A murder of crows.”

Draco scoffed a laugh. “Then what’s a group of ravens called, a…” Draco turned to the birds on the roof. “A creep, a lurk?” He turned back to Harry. “An ominous compendium?” 

“A conspiracy,” Harry answered, watching the largest bird. He couldn't shake the feeling that it was watching him back. “Or an unkindness of ravens,” he added softly. He smiled wryly. “Not really the nicest of names.”

“No.” Draco sniffed, stepping backwards. He sighed. “Fitting, mind,” he added, eyeing the ravens as they beadily eyed them back. “They appear to be conspiring to have you adopt them and take them with you back to England.”

Harry laughed, relieved and slightly too loud in the predawn gloom. “Not sodding likely,” he said, turning around with some effort. 

“No?” Draco fell into step with him. “I thought you liked collecting odd pets. And fans,” he added with a sly smile. 

“Oh, sod off.” Harry laughed, adjusting his rucksack on his shoulders. He adjusted his glasses as they set a brisk pace between them. Harry hoped like hell the birds weren’t following them. His heart sank, though, when he saw a shadow pass overhead, wing outstretched as a raven flew overhead. 

Harry sighed, scratching at his ear and trying to focus on something else. They were only birds, and curious ones at that. Nothing more, he told himself. 

“Is it odd that we haven’t seen anyone?” he said after another moment as they trudged in the direction of their meeting point in the Tjäktja valley. 

“Pardon?” Draco said without looking at him. 

“You said earlier, what if any Muggle saw you in your robes.” Harry brows creased as he toyed with the strap of his rucksack. “But we haven’t seen anyone, Muggle or otherwise. No one at all.”

Draco shrugged dismissively, chewing his lip. “Must not be a busy time of year,” he said noncommittally. 

“Mmm.” Harry looked around, unconvinced. “I think this should be a busy time though, according to the guide at least. We should have bumped into at least a couple of other hikers.”

Draco shrugged again, unconcerned. 

“Maybe they just took one look at us and got spooked by your feathery entourage,” Draco said, smiling slightly, and stopping to pull the map from his pocket. The small disk Holford had given them fell out when he did so, and Draco stopped to pick it up and slip it carelessly back into his pocket. 

Impulsively, Harry ran a thumb over his own disk, still in his trousers’ pocket where it had been all along, forgotten and unnecessary. Harry was glad of that, at least, that nothing had happened while they were out here that would warrant having to abort the exercise and use the disk to emergency Apparate out. At the very least, he didn’t want to have to do this again; he was ready to be done with this training mission, to see his own bed, even though a part of him wasn’t ready to leave. His stomach lurched slightly, both pleasant and unpleasant, as he thought of himself and Draco, of all that they’d done and said. He thought of Draco’s hair tickling his cheek as he lay against him, of his soapy hands in the shower. Harry wanted to take that back with him, almost desperately so, for them to keep doing this once back on home soil. 

Harry sighed, letting the disk slip from his fingers and falling back into step with Draco as they began to walk again. 

“I think I’ll do the same,” Harry said abruptly. “When I get home,” Harry clarified at Draco’s confused look. “Have a bath, then wear something comfortable, do absolutely nothing, and hope Margot has forgiven me for abandoning her for this long.” Harry smiled softly. He was already envisioning this would take an entire packet of treats before she stopped sulking, even though he knew for a fact she would have had a wonderful time with Neville. She could sulk like no one’s business, and would until Harry had appeased her. 

Draco looked at him in confusion. “Margot? Oh.” Draco closed his eyes, smiling as he remembered. “Your ferret. Merlin.” He shook his head. “What possessed you to call her Margot?” He clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

Harry slanted him a sly look. “Well. I couldn't call her Malfoy, could I?”

Malfoy stopped in his tracks, eyes wide and indignant. “You’re joking.” 

Harry grinned into the early morning gloom, looking back at Draco over his shoulder as he walked out onto the grass. “I am,” he said happily. It was only half-true though; he wasn't really to admit to Draco, though, that he rather had been thinking of him when he’d named her. He decided he was wisely going to keep that up his sleeve for a little bit longer. “Margot is a nice name,” he went on casually, walking quickly again. 

“Yes, for a French woman in her 20s, not a bloody ferret,” Draco grumbled. 

“S’better than Karen,” Harry muttered, remembering Hannah’s cat. 

“Who the bloody hell is _Karen_?” Draco asked, exasperated.

“Never mind,” Harry frowned as he watched another raven fly overhead. They seemed to be heading in the same direction as they were. Harry didn't like the idea of that at all, and he put it down to his overactive imagination. 

“Was that Karen?” Draco asked lightly, nodding at the raven. Harry laughed in surprise. 

“No, I did not name the bird Karen.” 

“Well, I wouldn't be surprised if you had.” Draco smiled, voice slightly lower from the exertion of their walk; they were aiming for a faster pace, given they’d managed to waste a fair bit of time getting out of the cabin. Harry found it hard to regret that, even though he was feeling a little out of breath himself from walking quickly over the rocks, and then uneven ground. He could see below them, at a sight incline, the dip of the valley, and a small formation of rocks. It looked man made, or deliberately placed at least, with large stones that looked taller than Harry himself. They seemed to be scattered in loose circle, but Harry couldn't tell yet given how far away they were; it was only due to the higher ground that he could see their meeting places at all. Harry had another unnerving memory of his dream, of old and gnarled hands carrying heavy stones, before he shook himself. He walked quicker to catch up to Draco, who seemed blissfully unbothered by the landscape, and rightly so, Harry thought. There was no reason for either of them to be feeling uneasy. He was just being stupid, and jumpy. Harry found he was oddly comforted by Draco's light mood.

“You and your _conspiracy_ of ravens,” Draco went on, imitating Harry’s slightly rougher accent. “Which may or not be named Karen.” He shot an amused look at Harry, who smiled, holding a hand up to shield his eyes from the risen sun. Draco twisted his lips contemplatively before he spoke again. “You know, I bet you’re handy at trivia nights,” he quipped. 

“Why?” queried Harry. 

“Well. You seem to know an awful lot about useless subjects,” Draco added archly. “Norway, tents, now collective nouns from large groups of Scandinavian birds.” 

Harry opened his mouth indignantly. “Excuse me,” he said, as Draco smirked at him happily. “Knowing how to put up the tent bloody well came in handy, thank you very much!” he asserted, indignance buoyed by Draco’s self-satisfied grin and unimpressed shrug. “And the rest is just common knowledge,” Harry added. 

“A conspiracy of ravens is not common knowledge, Harry.”

“And you, you can’t talk!” Harry continued, stepping over a large rock, and then down again heavily. He grinned, eyes bright. “With your systematic magic sites. Can’t tell me that’s common knowledge.”

“No, perhaps not, but it’s hardly what anyone would call _useless_ knowledge.” Draco sniffed imperiously. “Just because someone else might overlook it as relevant, doesn't make it less important. The opposite, in fact, I would say. After all, the things people don’t expect you to know can be the most useful. It can be a real advantage,” Draco finished, his tone no longer mocking and taking on an earnest tone.

“How?” Harry asked, genuinely curious. 

“How?” Draco laughed. “Because knowledge is powerful, Harry, surely you know that,” he explained, voice slightly lilting on the familiar adage. Underneath it, though, he sounded serious. “Lack of it can be a real weakness, and having information, _facts_ , up your sleeve which your adversary doesn’t have can make or break a situation.” He looked at Harry seriously, the sunlight catching on the metal frames of his glasses. 

Harry thought suddenly that he was going to miss seeing Draco in them; he found it unlikely Draco would keep wearing them around. Harry cleared his throat, looking away as he felt his face heat. He was getting sentimental about the stupidest of things lately. 

“Who thinks like that,” Harry stated, clearing his throat then laughing to cover how rough his voice was. 

“Me,” Draco said confidently, apparently unaware of Harry inner glasses-fondness turmoil. “I told you, I’m good at that. I like knowing things, putting things together, solving things. It’s why I want to be in the ―” Draco stopped, cutting himself. His expression immediately darkened, his steps turning heavy.

“In the Investigative Unit?” Harry suggested quietly. 

Draco scoffed, the set of his jaw immediately turning defensive. 

“Yes, and I know it’s never likely to happen so you can spare me the ‘aiming within my means’ motivational talk,” he said stiffly, his voice dry. “I’ve had it from Pansy, my father, Holford.” Draco swallowed, eyes downcast. “Everyone but bloody Kingsley, but his lack of talking me out of trying to get selected is more to do with not wanting to waste his breath on me, I suspect,” Draco spat bitterly. 

“Hey.” Harry stopped, frowning. “Kingsley’s not like that.” He waited until Draco stopped too, looking at Harry sullenly with one foot propped up on a mossy rock. “He’s a good guy,” Harry went on. 

“Yeah, he is, and I’m not,” Draco said, as if Harry was a first year he was explaining how to cast _Lumos_ to. Draco scoffed again, shaking his head. “They only admit, what, a very select few people to even sit the _exams_ per year, they’re not going to ― ” Draco cut himself off once more, his eyes growing bright as his face flushed. He looked miserable, suddenly, flushed with anger, indignation, and shame. Harry knew it; he recognised the combination, the way the emotions would churn in his belly, anger wanting to indignantly lash out, shame reminding him that he didn’t have a right to. The empathy crawled up Harry’s throat, familiar and awful.

“Not going to what?” he asked quietly, stepping closer to Draco.

“Oh, come on Harry. You know the answer to that.” Draco’s lips twisted into a bitter grimace. He laughed, and it was dry, hard. There was no humour in it, now in the shine of his eyes, the high and upset tone of his voice. “They’re not going to waste a spot in the most prestigious specialised Auror unit on a fucking ex-Death Ea ― 

Draco fell silent as Harry impulsively leant forward, quickly grabbing two of Draco’s fingers in his hand. Draco immediately frowned, his chest rising and falling and his pulse point fluttering in his neck, over the soft line of his jumper. He swallowed, then breathed out sharply through his nose. His eyes stayed glued to Harry’s hand. 

“What are you doing, Potter?” he asked, eyes bright and cheeks splotchy with emotion. 

Harry licked his lips, unsure of the answer himself. He looked down at his fingers, at the two of Draco’s he had clasped in his own. Harry tilted his head to the left, then tightened his grip on Draco’s hand all the same. 

“It’s called holding your hand,” Harry said softly. He looked down, then up through the mess of his fringe, pulling at the corner of his lower lip. “It’s when you squeeze someone’s fingers with your own.” He took another step closer, as Draco frowned at him, his expression almost comically confused. “I’m not sure if maybe Pure-bloods have another word for it ― 

Draco laughed, suddenly, the sound awkward as it burst out of him. “ Piss off, Potter,” he said, his voice surprised and loud, and startling in the morning quiet of the trail. “You wanker,” he added, smiling despite himself. He wiped at his cheek with the back of his hand then laughed again thickly. He made no move to pull his hand away. 

Harry shrugged, smiling back crookedly. “Maybe you call it a finger bind, or something,” he said, stomach flipping when Draco laughed again. He shook his head, clearing his throat before pulling his hand away, slowly. He tucked his hair behind his ear, loose without it’s usual pulled back bun, then then both hands hang limply at his sides. He seemed uncertain what to do with them. Harry felt the same, as he folded his own across his waist, his fingers suddenly empty. 

“Right.” Harry cleared his throat, twisting his mouth up to one side and then taking a large step past Draco. “Well, we need to get walking then. If we intend to make the meeting point before the sun goes down,” he said, in his best imitation of a low and expensive-sounding drawl. 

“Is that supposed to be me?” Draco replied, unimpressed. At least, he would have sounded convincingly unimpressed, if he didn’t still look a little surprised and flustered, his brows raised and his cheeks pink. “Because that’s not how I sound,” he went on emphatically. 

Harry looked over his shoulder, as Draco caught up with him. “It’s always strange hearing yourself,” he said consolingly, with as straight a face as he could muster. 

“That’s not how I sound!” Draco insisted. “You utter prick.”

“One can be quite taken aback when one hears ―”

“Oh, fuck _off_!” Draco laughed. “Wanker,” Draco said again, 

“Didn’t hear you complaining about that this morning,” he said softly, trying not to smile. 

Draco raised on brow, slowly. “ _Cocky_ wanker,” he said. 

Harry pressed his tongue into his cheek. “Again, didn't hear you complaining ―” 

“Harry,” Draco interrupted, looking at him warmly. He leant forwards almost close enough to brush his lips against Harry’s, and Harry held his breath, stopping in his tracks lest he fall over. “Shut,” Draco leant closer, _“up_ ,” he finished, lips against Harry’s cheek, then his ear. 

Draco pulled back, his smile turning smugger when he registered Harry’s blush, before he began walking once more. Harry watched him for a second, blinking like an idiot and standing stationary like one, too. 

“Are we gonna keep doing this?” Harry suddenly blurted. “When we get home, that is.” His face coloured when he realised what he’d asked, what he meant, his mouth having once against bypassed his brain and opened before he’d intended to. 

“What, bickering on a hill before lunchtime?” Draco tilted his head contemplatively. “Sure, I except we can manage that at least a dozen more times.”

“No, that ― that’s not what I was asking ―” 

“I know,” Draco said, looking back slightly so Harry could see his smile. He didn’t say anything further. 

“Wait, so is that...” Harry blinked, confused as he tried to ascertain whether Draco had answered the question or not. “Um. What’s your answer?” 

Draco hummed softly. “My answer is.” Draco stopped, then swivelled on his heel. “That you should ask me again we when get home,” he said, smiling faintly.

“Is that a...yes?” Harry started walking to follow Draco. 

Draco laughed then grinned over his shoulder. The light of new sun was behind him, making a halo of his pale hair. Harry couldn't make out the exact expression in his eyes, under the glare the light, but he could see the dimples on Draco's cheeks, the easy posture of his shoulders. He could see his smile. 

“Ask me again when we get home,” Draco repeated, walking backwards so he could still face Harry, before he turned forwards again. 

Draco’s voice was light and warm, and Harry scuffed one heel on the ground, smiling to himself. That didn't sound like a no, he thought, trudging closer to Draco as they upped their pace and steadily moved towards the circle of stones. It didn't sound like a no at all.

~*~

They arrived at the valley marker, both of their faces flushed and warm despite the cold weather, with seven minutes to spare. They’d made good time, despite their slow and ambling start, their high spirits and eagerness to be done with the training exercise making their footsteps quick, their eyes bright. Harry felt buoyed for some reason, optimistic and hopeful, even though he could see the shapes of the ravens in the sky, could see them still circling above them in elegant and anticipatory loops. Harry found he didn’t care; they’d be leaving soon, done with all of this.

The ravens could swoop all they liked, Harry thought as they stepped up to the loose circle of stones, as the birds settled along the tops of the highest rocks in a dark circlet. They were just birds, and Harry and Draco were leaving.They both stopped before entering the cluster of stones, the breeze cold on their cheeks but the sun warming the back of Harry’s neck, the tips of his ears. The area was beautiful, the trees sparse and the sky clear. There were small rocks on the ground, amongst the green and brown grass, the patches of dirt showing through. Before them, the mountains loomed, beautiful and impersonal and capped in gleaming white. It was stunning, Harry thought, desolate but not unwelcoming, but he stayed rooted to the spot, the hair on the back of his neck prickling and his stomach tense with a feeling he couldn't define. 

He immediately, and unmistakably, felt like something was wrong. 

“Is this the right spot?” Harry asked, hesitant to walk any closer. He resisted the urge to pull Draco back too, to stop him from heading towards the stones either. Thankfully, Draco didn’t seem any more inclined to get closer than Harry was. 

“Yes, it is,” Draco said, the first hint of unease settling into his voice. “Eerie, isn't it?” he said quietly, as they hung around the edges, not quite daring to enter. “I can’t see Holford,” he added softly. 

“No,” Harry frowned, peering into the middle of the uneven circle. “I can’t see anyone inside there.” He could see the birds perched on the grey stone, could see the scattering and pebbles and smaller rocks on the ground. There was a dip in the middle, more of the same browning grass and then smooth, dark dirt, but he couldn't see anyone waiting for them. He swallowed, letting his heavy rucksack slip onto one shoulder, and then to the ground. He didn’t like this place, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. It didn’t feel any different to any of the other places they’d been in, not really, and somehow it felt starkly different to the entire landscape they’d been traversing. Harry’s frown deepened as he took in the familiar quiet, the stillness of this place. It reminded him of the quiet in the plateau, near the small stream, where they’d found the systematic magic site, and Harry almost turned to ask Draco. But something stopped him, some wariness he couldn't explain. He didn’t want to go in here, he thought, didn’t feel the pull and excitement as he had previously. There was something here, Harry knew, and something he didn’t want to get any closer to, like a shadow in the corner of his eye that he couldn't properly see but wanted to get away from all the same. 

Harry wiped his hand on his trousers, his palm damp and sweaty. “Draco ―” 

“We’re just early,” Draco said, quietly interrupting Harry. Harry turned to see Draco watching him, and had been for some time. Harry wondered how much of his trepidation showed on his face. He suspected, from Draco’s own expression, that it was pretty evident he was feeling unsettled. “That’s why Holford’s not here. But he will be.” Draco took a step closer, letting his own rucksack fall to the ground as well. He made a soft sound of relief at the weight being lifted. “And he’ll have the Portkey, and then he’ll take us to this bond bloke who’ll get us unstuck.” He smiled and Harry risked one back, feeling slightly comforted by Draco’s words. 

Harry laughed. It sounded wobbly even to his own ears. “Yeah. Be nice to have the bond gone,” he mumbled half-heartedly, then jumped when a raven cawed loudly above them. 

Draco rolled his eyes. “And then we’ll never have to see another raven again in our lives, either.” He sighed, inclining his head towards the circle. “Come on then, no more dithering. England awaits,” he said, walking into the circle. 

It took all of Harry’s willpower to force himself to follow Draco in. 

At first, Harry noticed nothing, but then, as soft and insidious as static in the air, he felt it. A soft crackle of magic tripped over his skin as he walked behind Draco, who stilled as well, looking down at his forearms; Harry knew he’d felt it too. It prickled over Harry’s arms, his back, leaving him feeling momentarily dull and dizzy, before it lifted as quickly as it came. In its place, panic began to settle, Harry’s deep unease giving way to something more solid. 

“I don’t like this,” Harry muttered, instinctively reaching for his wand. He winced when he remembered he didn’t have it, hadn’t had it for days. He moved closer to Draco, sensing from his posture, the way he’d also reached for a wand that wasn’t there, that Draco felt the same thing now. _Wrong_ , Harry thought. Something was _wrong_ here. The ravens stared them down, high on their perches, dark and still, and Harry wanted to run, to back away. He slipped one hand into his pocket, fingers curling around the disk Holford had given them, and letting his other hand brush against Draco’s. 

“Maybe it’s,” Draco licked his lips, but didn’t walk any closer to the centre, “like a test,” he pondered. “Maybe this is a test.”

“Where’s Holford, though,” Harry insisted, thumb poised over the emergency Apparition disk. 

“It could just be a test,” Draco repeated absently, as he warily scanned the area. “Some kind of skills training.”

Around them, the ravens ruffled their feathers, eyes fixed on Draco, on _Harry_. Harry felt his lip curling, anger welling up as he looked at the birds. 

“Yeah, but then where is _Holford,”_ he snapped, still glaring at the birds. 

“He’s not coming,” a soft voice replied. 

Harry’s head whipped around, as did Draco’s, as they both turned towards the direction of the voice. 

In the centre of the stone circle, where previously nothing had been, a tall man stood. 

“Hello, boys,” said Per quietly. 

His folded hands were placed before him, his eyes soft but alert, and his face set in an almost disarming smile. He wore black, a robe of smooth and soft wool, with a large crest pinned to the left breast. It was garish in size, glittering with deep red stones that caught the light and caged in white gold. It seemed out of place, something so man-made and forced in its shape, in such a barren landscape. Draco’s attention was fixed to it, his expression intense and impossible to read. 

Harry immediately hated the sight of it, of the too stark red of the glinting stones in their metal cages. 

“What are you doing here?” Harry said sharply around the sudden tightness in his throat. “Where’s Holford?”

“Auror trainer Holford,” Per’s smile never wavered, “won’t be coming today.”

A soft murmur of noise went up amongst the birds, their wings lifting in a disquieted ruffle of feathers. They seemed startled, uneasy, as tense as Harry felt, and Harry’s skin crawled. The ravens made him feel unnerved, unsure of what was happening; he didn’t know what to do with the idea that ravens themselves were frightened by _Per_. 

Harry’s fingers tightened in his pocket, aching for his wand. He pressed the disk to his palm instead. 

“Why not?” he demanded, but Per didn’t reply. He tipped his head to the left, eyes sliding from Harry and over to Draco, who was still staring at the pin. Draco’s eyes wide and stunned, as if the shape of it, the emblem, was familiar to him. A small crease appeared between his brows as he seemed to visibly recoil from Per, from the sight of the emblem pinned to his chest.

Harry's stomach filled with dread. Per’s smile seemed delighted in the face of Draco’s discomfort. 

“This is a test,” Draco repeated, an almost desperate tone in his voice, as if trying to convince himself. “It’s some kind of...test, that’s why you’ve got ―”

“I’m afraid it’s not, Draco,” Per said, almost kindly.

“Why he’s got what, what is that?” Harry asked quickly, watching the flicker of emotions over Draco’s face: confusion, panic, anger. 

_Fear_. 

“No, it’s just some kind of _test_!” Draco all but shouted at Per. “It has to be, just some fucked up test they’ve set up for me because of who I ―” Draco stopped, shaking his head. “Because Holford hates me, they all do, and this is some kind of messed up test, or joke, making you wear one of those. Giving you one of those stupid, old ―”

“Careful.” Per’s voice was sharp, cold as stone. His eyes flashed, shadows in the hollows of his cheeks. “Be careful with your words, now.” Per’s smile widened, a flash of white teeth. Harry hated him, with a sudden and confused ferocity. Around him, he heard the ravens stir, three of the smaller birds lifting into the air and landing on the tallest stone behind Harry. 

“What is that?” Harry demanded, nodding his head at the glittering emblem. “What is going on here?” He flinched as another raven settled on the stone behind him, their outstretched wings casting shadows on the ground in front of him. 

“Yes. Why don’t you tell Mr Potter what this is, Draco?” Per suggested in a low tone. 

“No,” Draco replied hoarsely. 

“But you do know what it is, don’t you Draco?” Per insisted. On his chest, the crest gleamed, the sunlight catching on the white gold and the brilliant blood-red of the stones in the centre. “Of course you do,” he added, standing straighter. “A young man from a family like yours, from your upbringing, would recognise the sign of the _Hvélsveg Himins_.”

Draco grimaced, his lip curling in disgust, but his eyes were wide and alarmed. He said nothing, his face pale and expression tight. 

“Who are they?” Harry asked, eyes flitting from Draco to Per, then back again. 

“Draco,” Per prompted gently. 

Draco’s jaw clenched. “They don’t exist anymore,” Draco whispered, eyes narrowing . 

“I assure you.” Per took a step forward, robe brushing his leather-clad ankles slightly. “That they do.”

“Who _are_ they?” Harry demanded again, frustrated and annoyed at not understanding what was going on. His voice was loud enough to make the birds around them shift on their perches. 

“Draco. Please tell Harry.” Per sighed indulgently. “I won’t ask again.” 

“They’re blood purists,” Draco spat. “Old ones. I read about them,” he went on, as the blood rang in Harry’s ears, cold dread slipping into his stomach and his head beginning to pound. 

“Death Eaters,” Harry said softly, the bile rising in his throat. 

Draco shook his head. “Older than them. And worse.”

Per’s eyes narrowed, but whether in satisfaction or annoyance at being worse than a Death Eater, Harry couldn’t tell. 

“Father used to have one of those,” Draco continued, glaring at the emblem. “In the study. Said it was an antique, a collectible. Forbade me from going near it, though, or reading about it, even looking at it. But I did. I used to sneak in. I thought it was pretty.” Draco swallowed, face twisted in distaste. “Until I read about the stuff they used to do to Muggles, Muggleborns, even those with lesser-formed magical abilities. It was in one of the books father had which I wasn’t meant to know about.” Per’s eyes hardened, but Draco continued undeterred. “Made my stomach turn. And this was back when I was a good little Death Eater, too.” Draco sneered. “Even when my head was still willingly full of that vile ideology, you made my stomach _turn_.”

“Oh, now Draco.” Per’s tone was almost fond, as if chiding a child. “You make it all sound so ugly,” Per said, with a soft lilt of his accent. 

“Because it _is_!” Harry shot back furiously, his heart beating fast. His head spun, mind racing to process what was happening here, what was going on. His stomach was churning, angrily nauseous, and he pressed his shoulder against Draco’s. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Harry,” Per said, his voice carefully moderated as if Harry was being obtuse. “This isn't your world.”

“Fuck off!” Harry yelled, indignant and outraged. He saw the expression briefly mirrored in Per’s eyes, his calm facade slipping, before Harry saw the flash of Per’s wand, a vibrant burst of colour, followed by the sharp sting as the hex caught his bicep, ripping through his jumper and and then glancing off the rock behind him. 

Harry gasped at the slash of pain. Draco’s hand was tight on Harry’s other arm as he pulled him upright, closer to his side, but before Harry could speak he felt another spike of pain, and a heavy thud, this time against his back. Harry startled as he felt the nick of sharp talons as they gripped him, as strong claws dug into his shoulder. Harry turned his head slowly, wincing at the pain in his arm, as talons dug into his shoulder. 

Silver eyes stared back at him, fierce and wide, as the large raven cawed. It extended its wings, then tightened its claws on Harry’s shoulder. It tipped its head to the left, once, then back to the right, it’s beak half-open in almost curious way. Harry pulled in a shaking breath, blinking up at the unnerving silver eyes, before the bird turned away. Its eyes settled on Per, its head lowered as it watched him intently. 

Per tittered a soft laugh, tapping his wand against his hand. 

“The _korp_ seem to like you,” he announced loudly, as Harry glared. He felt Draco’s fingers digging into his arm, and he was glad of it, as he swayed under the unexpected weight of the bird on his shoulder, of the startling ache from the gash in his arm. 

“The ravens, that is.” Per gestured at the sky, the rocks around them, then down Harry’s shoulder. “It’s not a good thing, Harry,” he said, his tone deeply satisfied as he saw Harry’s jaw tighten. “ _Hrafn_ , they were called in older times, when giants and jötnar roamed these lands.” Harry winced as the raven dug its claws in harder. “Some people say that they are the ghosts of murdered people,” Per said happily. “Of those sad souls who met an unfair and untimely death at the hands of another, their bones left to rot without a proper burial.” 

Per took a step closer, brow furrowed in a semblance of almost genuine concern. Harry’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. The ravens on the rock behind Per quickly took to the air, landing on the rock behind Harry, the others following until they all perched in a cluster behind them. Per tilted his head to one side. 

“Perhaps that’s why they like you,” Per suggested, his eyes gleaming. “They sense a kindred spirit in you, with your… past.” Per grinned at Harry’s confused glare. “I hear you once died, Mr Potter.”

Harry stood as straight as he could, breathing out roughly through his nose. 

“Or perhaps they have a taste for slaughtered lambs,” Per went on conversationally. “Especially those that were fattened for years on an old man’s ideology, for a bigger purpose.” He smiled unkindly. “I find that does rather apply to both of you, don’t you think? But only one was being readied to die for a good cause. A worthy cause. The _right_ cause.” Per’s eyes slowly tracked from Harry and over to Draco, bright in their intensity and almost adoring in their slant. 

Harry felt Draco's fingers tighten on his arm, as sharp as the ravens claws, as he almost imperceptibly stepped back. His face was pale and stricken. 

“Where’s Holford?” Harry asked sharply, refusing to acknowledge what Per had just said. 

“At the bottom of the Thames, Mr Potter.” Per blinked at him, slow and catlike. “In a thousand scattered pieces.”

“No,” Draco stated bluntly, his voice flat and his shoulders tight. “No, that’s ―” 

“Why on earth would I lie about that?” Per interupted, tapping his hand against his wrist again. He looked as if he was growing impatient, his mouth turning down slightly. 

“Why?” Harry clenched his jaw. 

“Because his ability to be of use, such as it ever was, had ceased.” Per shrugged simply. “He was a terrible man, and only a partner out of necessity. Volatile, and fickle, was my dear friend Crispin. But he served his purpose, and served it well enough. And now he has been taken care of.” 

“What purpose?” Harry struggled to stay upright, as the raven stretched its large wings out. The feathers brushed his head, and Harry fought the urge to shrug the bird off. He shivered, holding Per’s eye contact instead. He brushed his thumb against the disk in his pocket, as his slipped it into his palm. He needed to leave, he thought frantically, as Per watched him with careful attention. They needed to leave, to somehow alert Kingsley, without Per stopping them. Harry swallowed, heart pounding, as he got ready to use the emergency beacon to leave, as he hoped Draco was doing the same.

Per exhaled, long and slow. He nodded, as if it was a perfectly reasonable question. “To kill you, of course,” Per drawled, sounding bored. 

Harry slammed his finger down on the centre of the disk, bracing himself for the rush, the tightness, of Apparition. 

Nothing happened. 

Harry pressed it once more, staring down at the small disk, and then at Draco as he held his disc loosely in his hand. Nothing happened, and Per laughed, soft and happy, and Harry winced at his own stupidity. Of course it wouldn’t work, he thought, as he saw Draco’s face fall, too. Holford gave these to them. Holford was setting them up. 

“That was my idea,” Per said, almost apologetically. “I’m afraid those won’t work. I’m afraid you won’t be leaving.” He smiled, almost ecstatic, as he tapped his wrist, his neck, and then his heart with the tip of his wand. Harry’s heart sank further, as he realised what Per was doing. 

“The bond,” Draco stated, swallowing thickly as he came to the same conclusion as Harry. 

Per laughed again, nodding happily. Harry hated him so fiercely it hurt. 

“Yes. Quite clever, I think,” Per said. “My idea,” he repeated with a wink, as if they should share in his triumph. “We had to think of something quite quickly, after Kingsley insisted on extra safety precautions. Oh, you should have heard Crispin holler about that! He knew, of course,” Per said easily. “What I planned to do to you. It was not difficult to swing to my way of thinking. Money,” Per shrugged as if they were old friends chatting about the weather. “It can persuade a man to do any number of things.”

“The discs are rigged.” Draco glowered, pulling Harry closer to him. 

“Oh, no.” Per pointed his wand at them lazily. “They are perfectly functional, you will find. But the bond will not allow you to Apparate, to leave this place. Normally, a bond would do no such thing, but that’s the beauty of this particular bond. It’s your location, you see. You need to stay within each other’s proximity, that’s the core of this magical tie, it’s guiding purpose. To keep you close to each other, keep you _safe_. Any sudden Apparition, one of you leaving the other’s presence, could have a devastating effect. And so, the bond will not allow that.” Per’s eyes gleamed maliciously. “It’s a wonderful thing, you know, instilling a bond. There’s so much you can _do_ when you have someone else’s magic at your wand tip, when they willingly turn it over to you, and they won’t even know it. You can click that all you like, but no one is coming to get you." Per smiled, still kind and charming as he raised his wand. "You're going to die."

“No,” Harry said frantically, “No, whatever you want ―”

“Is about to happen, yes.” Per pursed his lips. “This is the only way, I’m afraid.”

“Only way for _what_?” Harry yelled. 

“To finish what has been started,” Per explained, extending his arm. “I admit, I’m standing on the backs of greater men who came before me, but on their shoulders I stand tall and prepared to succeed. You see, you’re very symbolic, Mr Potter,” he said, raising his voice over the rustle of the birds around them, of the whistle of the wind as it picked up. “An emblem, you might say, as stark as that which I wear.” His lips curled into a sneer, a rare show of emotion on that impassive face, and Harry glared back, tilting his head when he felt Draco’s fingers relax then tighten. 

“Harry,” Draco whispered, as quietly as he could. “Harry, the magic. I think this site is ―”

“And what does one do with a symbol, Mr Potter,” Per said, even louder, “for something you _detest_.” Per spat the word. “You crush it,” he yelled. “You wipe it from the face of the earth, and then from the sole of your boot,” Per’s nostrils flared, the whites of his eyes showing. “And when that symbol is gone, and all it stood for is dust, you put something better in its place. Something _worthy_.” 

“Harry, this is a conduit magic site, we can ―”

Draco’s furious whispering stopped when Per suddenly aimed his wand at him. Draco stilled, his eyes wide and panicked. Dimly, but growing louder, Harry could hear a soft whistle, an alarming rin in his ears. _The bond_ , he thought, as the Raven on his shoulder beat his wings and dug it’s claws in harder, the blood wetting Harry’s jumper. The bond was ringing in his ears. 

“And what do you do with those loyal to that symbol,” Per said, his tone quiet but fierce. Harry’s heart hammered in his chest, his breathing shallow. “I’m sorry, Draco,” Per said, almost genuinely rueful. “I would have loved to have you fight at my side. But I don't think you will. I suspect you are a faithful follower, that once your loyalties have turned, they will not turn again.” Per straightened his shoulders, wand pointed at Draco’s chest. “And I have no time for traitors, not matter how blue their blood.”

Harry stumbled backwards, dragging Draco with him, as the raven lifted slightly then dug back down. Harry winced, the pain grounding him amongst his fear, as Draco seemed to stay rooted to the spot. Harry tried to pull Draco with him, to get him to _move_. The ravens shrieked around them, some of them taking flight, their cries piercing the air. Per’s voice was quiet when he spoke, his wand aimed steadily at Draco’s sternum. 

_“Avada Kedavra_.”

Harry screamed. The flash of light was green and violent and blinding before it was swallowed by a surge of black, swooping feathers in front of them, causing Draco to jerk against him, instinct finally making him move. Light filled Harry’s eyes, as he held his forearm in front of him, as he blinked to try and see properly. _No_ , he thought, his eyes stinging. _No, that didn’t hit Draco_ , he told himself frantically, even as Draco’s fingers let go of his arm, as he felt the sting of the raven’s claws releasing his shoulder. _No, that didn’t hit_ ― 

Harry heard the thud of something falling to the ground, followed by the sound of bone hitting hard stone. Harry heard a sickening _crack_ , a grunt of startled pain. He heard the loud shriek of a bird, felt the rush of air past his face. The light around Harry surged again, warm and soft and deeply familiar. _Me_ , he thought, _that’s me_ , but he still couldn't see, his eyes stinging as the light throbbed around him, before his eyes slowly adjusted. 

“Draco,” Harry whispered, looking down even as he tried to keep his arm up in front of his. He could barely talk around his fear, around the achingly familiar pain of seeing that green light, of hearing a body hit the ground. “Draco ―” 

“H’rry?”

Harry forced his eyes open, as he gasped down air, shoulders sagging. His relief felt thick enough choke him as he saw Draco struggling to sit up, one hand on the back of his head. 

“Draco, you’re ―” 

“M’fine,” Draco mumbled. “Jus’ fell. Hit my head,” he muttered woozily, crawling closer to Harry. Behind him, there was a jagged rock, something dark stained on the peak, but Harry didn’t have time to register it properly before Draco grabbed his wrist. “He didn’t get me,” Draco said, his voice tinged with a faint slur. He gestured at the ground with a shaky hand. In front of them Harry saw the body of a dead raven, saw the dark silhouette of Per as he raised his wand again. The light surged around them once more, yellow and bright, and Harry winced, then again when Per shot another curse at them, as the light deflected it easily. 

Harry knew that he was doing it. He didn’t know how, but he knew it was coming from him, from the deepest part inside him that was thrumming with fear and adrenaline and instinct. He knew that it was him ― and that it wouldn't hold for long. 

“Draco, I don’t know what to ―”

Draco carded his fingers into Harry’s own. 

“D’you remember how to do it, Harry?” he mumbled absently, his voice distant but determined. 

“Do what?”

“In the clearing. With the stream. The rocks.”

“Do _what_ , Draco?” Harry yelled frantically as another hex hit the light around them, as the birds swooped in the air and screamed. 

“The conduit.” Draco looked up at him, one hand on the ground and the other gripping Harry’s almost hard enough to hurt. His glasses were gone, his left eye bloodshot and bruised around the deep grey iris. Harry frowned, panicked, but Draco tugged his hand. “D’you remember?” Draco insisted. “The caster,” he tapped Harry’s thigh with the back of his hand, then let his fingers fall back to his own chest, “and conduit?”  
Harry inhaled sharply, then flinched again as the light around him grew fainter, a violent curse sending ripples of angry colour along it. “I don’t think ―”

“You can.” Draco placed his bare hand on the ground, wobbling slightly on his knees. His fingers looked dark, stained with red, and the back of his head was ― 

“Draco, you’re,” Harry pulled his arm up higher, the light fading. In his ears, the bond was ringing, faster and faster. “You’re _bleed_ ―” 

“You can.” Draco dug his fingers into the dirt, grey eyes staring at the ground. “You can, Harry. Shut your eyes, and.” Draco swallowed thickly, the dirt mixing with something dark and wet on his fingers. “Pull the magic up through me.”

Harry shut his eyes, and tried. 

The air was thick around him, as the light spun around his shut eyelids, as he could dimly hear Per’s furious casting. Harry wiggled his toes in his boots, the ground cold beneath them. He couldn't feel it, though, couldn't feel the magic, and Harry clenched his eyes shut tighter. This wouldn’t work, not with his boots on, not with the panic of the hexes running through him. Harry opened his mouth, but Draco clenched his fingers tighter, tight enough to cut off the circulation. Harry squeezed back. 

A wing tip skimmed his hair as a raven flew low over his head, as it shrieked near his ear. It was loud, jarring, and Harry bit down hard on his lip, searching for what he’d felt before. The bond grew louder in his ears, a distressing alarm, and Harry tried to follow it deeper, to find Draco’s heartbeat. It was difficult, with the cacophony of sounds, the fear thumping in Harry’s own ears, but slowly, underneath the siren of the bond’s call and the flap of the birds’ frantic wings, Harry found it. 

He followed it deeper. 

The magic felt different here, as Harry felt it tingle over his fingertips, along the backs of his knees. Deeper, heavier, _older_ ― more intoxicating. Harry felt the air rush past his ears, felt the light in front of him grow thinner, and yet stronger at the same time. He could see Per’s face, could see the sweat at his temple as he cast at them, again and again. Harry could feel the flap of the birds wings above, could taste the way their feathers beat the air. He curled his toes, suddenly aware of the cold ground beneath his feet, as his boots disappeared. He dug his heels into the ground, felt the hard earth give way beneath them. The magic grew in a steady ebb, pulsing along their joined hands in a throb as familiar as Harry’s own heartbeat, one which grew thicker and louder with every beat. Harry searched for Draco’s magic.

Around him, the earth shook, stone tearing from dirt as the stones began to lift. Harry felt another rush of air, the prickle of magic over his skin, as he felt the cool thread of magic from Draco, as he delved deeper. He pulled at it, let it tangle with his own, let something darker and heavier settle amongst it. _This_ , his magic sang, tripping over Harry’s nerves. _This, I want this, follow this._

Harry did. 

Suddenly, the light in front of him waned, then disappeared completely. In its place, transparent but heavy, Harry felt the magic surge, through him and around him. He felt the grass die beneath his feet, then spring up again, green shoots replacing the old. He felt the sky darken, the sun careening across the horizon, setting then rising again in its place. The body of the dead raven in front of them swelled then decayed, its bones turning from rusty brown to bleached white as Harry swayed, unable to stop what he had started. He felt panic, felt his magic pushing too deep, felt exhilaration as he urged it to go further even as Draco’s fingers tugged at his hand. Harry couldn’t stop it. He didn’t want to stop it. He felt anger, thick and hot, as his eyes met Per’s, as the thread of magic burst inside him in a deafening roar. 

Harry didn’t want to stop it. 

Per’s eyes were wide, and his fingers limp, as he dropped his wand. The ravens cawed, agitated and excited, as Per dropped to his knees. His lips tilted into a smile, even as he struggled to breathe, one hand at his throat and the other stretched out before him, close enough to touch the wall of magic building around Harry. 

“That’s brilliant, boys,” Per muttered, expression awestruck, as a trickle of blood fell from the corner of each eye, as his fingers met the thrumming magic. “ _Brilliant_.” 

His neck snapped with a sudden and loud _crack_ , his body teetering, then toppling over in a slow fall. It hit the ground with a soft thump, next to the decaying raven’s bones. 

Harry gasped with relief, swaying as his balance wavered, as the magic vanished in front of him. Harry shut his eyes, gripping Draco’s hand tight, as he tried to take a step. Harry gasped again, this time in pain, as he felt that thread of magic, the one Harry had been riding, tug back, and then again more ferociously. 

He couldn't move. 

Harry struggled for air as his lungs constricted, as the magic tugged again, pulling at the core of him with relentless strength. _Deep_ , Harry thought desperately, _I went too deep_. He felt the surge again, as the magic swelled inside him, then pulled back like the strongest of tides. Determined and unfeeling, the earth pulled back against him, and Harry tried to move his feet, to let go of Draco’s hand and sever the connection, but he couldn't move. Harry felt the brush of feathers against his face, as he grew dizzy from lack of oxygen, felt the beat of air underneath his arms. He was falling, he thought, spiralling downwards, the ground rushing up to meet him even as it shook under the weight of heavy footsteps, of ancient beings following the magic’s pull and lurching towards him. The magic tugged again, relentless and unfeeling, and Harry caught the coppery scent of _blood_ on the air, could taste it on his tongue, feel it slick and stick on his fingers. He pulled back, terrified, the air dark around him, as sorrowful, old eyes turned towards him, as Harry couldn’t stop himself from looking back. He was stuck, Harry knew, as his lips began to turn blue, as he couldn't tell anymore where the ground stopped and he began. He was stuck, he was _stuck_ , he was ― 

Something grabbed the front of his jumper, sharp talons piercing the material and scratching roughly over Harry’s skin before they pulled back fiercely then slammed Harry to the ground. 

The wind was knocked out of him. From the impact with the ground, or from the sudden severing of the thread connecting Harry to Draco to the magic site, Harry couldn't tell. He lay on his back, his head pounding and his lungs stinging as he gasped down air, as Harry still gripped Draco’s shaking fingers in his own. The raven on his chest hopped closer, peering inquisitively down into Harry’s face, close enough for its beak to almost tap against his skin. 

Silently, they watched each other, as Harry caught his breath. 

“Thank you,” Harry croaked after a long moment, as the silver-eyed raven stared curiously down at him. It cawed, once, head tilting to one side, and then to the other. Its wings beat against Harry’s cheeks as it lifted off him, its shadow flitting over his face and then disappearing from sight. The other birds followed in a flurry of beating wings, until the circle was silent. Harry let his head drop back against the ground, let his head swing for one slow moment, a dull ringing sound echoing inside his head. Harry frowned, the sound persistent and distressing ― unwelcome ― before he sat up with alarm. 

The bond was still ringing in his ears.

“Draco,” Harry said shakily, then coughed, his lungs still fighting for air. He clambered to his knees, crawling towards Draco, who sat, still and quiet, slumped forwards on his knees and staring down at his free hand. 

“Draco, it worked!” Harry shouted ecstatically, then winced as the bond grew louder, the ringing sharp and painful. “God, this fucking bond,” Harry laughed, too loud as the adrenaline pumped through him, waiting to crash. “It’s so loud, but you’re all right!” 

Harry wobbled slightly as he crawled closer, then flinched when he caught sight of Per’s body. Instinctively, he snatched Per’s wand from the ground, careful to keep his eyes averted from seeing him properly. The wand felt hard in his hands, the wood almost oily against his fingers and the magical core resisting Harry’s touch, but Harry gripped it tight all the same, feeling the safety and security of having a wand in his hand once more. 

Harry looked away again, quickly shaking his head to get the image of Per, prone on the ground, out of his mind, to try and cast away the curious surge of triumph and guilt it brought in him. He was glad Per was dead. He hated himself for that. He pushed it all away, focussing solely on moving closer to Draco, on getting them out of here. 

“Draco, the magic,” Harry flipped his hair out of his eyes, away from his glasses, “It worked, but it was, I went in too far, and I almost, but now it’s…” Harry stopped, face close to Draco’s own, as he looked down at Draco’s hand. “Now it’s fine,” Harry finished, breath catching as he saw the loose curl of Draco’s fingers, saw the vibrant red of the blood on them. “Now we’re fine,” Harry repeated, blinking rapidly as his heart hammered in his chest. “Draco we’re fine, you’re, what’s wrong, you’re ―”

“Harry.” Draco slowly looked up, his face pale. There was a smear of blood on his cheek, in the streaked line of fingertips. Draco’s mouth worked again as he tried to talk, but no sound came out. 

“Draco?” Harry pushed Draco’s hair away from his face, made a distressed sound when he saw the deep red colour of Draco’s left eye, saw the purple blush of a deep bruise forming underneath it. “What’s ―” 

“I just hit my head,” Draco said quietly, his voice soft and slurred. “I just…” He looked at Harry, confused, his eyelids fluttering rapidly. His eyes were unfocused, pupils large and dilated. “It didn’t even hurt,” Draco whispered, before his eyes slid shut. He swayed forwards until Harry caught him.

“Fuck,” Harry said stupidly, trying to think around the crash of the bond in his ears, the cold sweep of panic behind his ribs. “It’s okay, it’s just a concussion,” he mumbled desperately, stroking Draco’s cheeks with his thumbs and trying, uselessly, to get to his feet, to see if he could pull Draco up with him. He slipped a hand around Draco’s back, tipped him closer to his chest, and then cried out in alarm when he saw the back of Draco’s light grey jumper. 

_Blood_ , Harry thought frantically, as he looked down in shock. The back of Draco’s jumper was streaked with it, dull in patches and bright red in others, fresh blood on top of the old. Draco’s light hair was streaked with it, and Harry parted it with his fingers, careful not to touch Draco’s head. Behind Draco, Harry could see the rough edge of a half buried stone, could see a dark stain on it. Harry remembered the sickening _thud_ he’d heard, Draco’s soft grunt of pain, his insistence he was fine even as he cradled the back of his head. Harry groaned softly, his eyes prickling and his head pounding as the bond rang in his ears, telling him that Draco was hurt. 

Harry’s stomach swooped when he realised it was getting quieter. 

Harry tried to talk, to say something, but nothing came. He tried to stand up again, blind panic whiting out the sound around him. They needed to leave, to find somewhere safe, to get help. Harry gripped Per’s wand tighter then tried to Apparate, to Side-Along Draco, then groaned miserably when nothing happened. 

“Fuck!” he screamed, kicking his bare foot helplessly against the ground. His voice echoed around them, in the empty landscape, and Harry pressed his fingers into his eyes, gritting his teeth. “Think,” he growled, ignoring the dull throb in his chest. He needed to get help, to heal Draco. He could try to heal Draco himself, but he knew it would be futile; Per’s wand was resisting him even as Harry only held it, and Draco was far more hurt than Harry knew how to deal with. Harry's chest tightened excruciatingly at the thought, Draco’s weight heavy against him even as the bond sang in his ears. It was sharp, unmissable, but growing fainter still, the beat of Draco’s pulse hard to pick up. It was there, though, and Harry clung to that desperately, sitting up straighter and looking around him. The bond was stopping them from being able to leave, was stopping them from Apparating. That was what was keeping them here, what was telling him that Draco was still alive, and at the same was going to kill him if Harry couldn’t break it. 

Harry set his jaw, struggling onto his knees. 

He didn’t know how this bond had been cast, what Per had done or how to sever the ties between them, but he knew with sudden and fierce clarity that he could hear them if he tried, could find their beat. He’d heard it when it was first cast, when they used the conduit magic, when Draco slept beside him. He could find that line again, the ties running between them. Harry grit his teeth, pulling up into a higher kneeling position and carefully bringing Draco with him. His head lolled on Harry’s shoulder, his arms limp. He felt heavy, his body slack. Harry—exhausted, frightened, but determined—drew in a shaking breath. 

He could find the heartlines, and he could snap them. 

“I’m sorry, Draco,” Harry whispered, struggling to get to his feet, to bring Draco up with him. He pressed his face against Draco’s hair, one hand moving cradling the back of his head. The blood seeped through his fingers, warm and terrifying. “I think this is going to hurt,” Harry whispered into Draco’s hair. It stuck to his lips, thin and wispy. Harry shut his eyes and concentrated. 

At first, he felt nothing. His own blood rushed in his ears, the bond a persistent thud, but Harry searched underneath it. _Like the magic_ , he told himself. Follow the thread back to its core, follow the thump of the bond to its origin, the flutter of Draco’s heartbeat down to soft lines and then ― _Pull._

Harry felt the tug in his own chest, violent and sudden. He laughed, ecstatic despite the pain, despite the off-kilter rhythm of his heart. 

His head swam, his pulse erratic and his vision blurring. His wrists ached, a ice-like sensation around them as he gripped Per’s wand tightly. His throat burned, the skin feeling burned and raw, and his chest felt like it was being crushed but he concentrated harder, forced himself to feel those faint lines connecting them and keep ripping at them. Again and again he felt the lines pull taut, almost to the point of giving before they tugged back. Harry pulled harder, nausea rising in his throat, a pain behind his eyes so deep he could barely keep them open. Still, he pulled at the heartlines. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry slurred dizzily as Draco suddenly jerked against him, and then again. “I’m sorry.” Draco’s teeth clacked together, his body jerking more violently now in fitful convulsions. Harry pulled at the heartlines harder, his eyes squeezed shut and his arms tight around Draco’s middle. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, as he felt the ground wobbling underneath his feet, felt the squeezing sensation over his body. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeated frantically, concentrating with everything he could on the bond, on ripping it apart. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor ― _ah_!” 

Harry stifled another sound of pain as the blood rushed in his ears. He felt tears prickle at his eyes, pain and fear fogging his mind, but still he plucked at the strings. _Safe, I’m going somewhere safe. I’m leaving. I’m going somewhere safe_. Harry’s body jolted, the tightness in his chest, in his wrists compressing, becoming almost unbearable, before it gave way suddenly with a raw and visceral _rip_. 

The ground slipped out from beneath him, the soft grass disappearing in whoosh of air and an overwhelming rush of senses. Harry jolted again at the rush of cold, at the change in the air and the sounds around him. 

His bare feet hit cold, stone floor.

Harry gasped for breath, his chest aching. The bond was silent, the ringing still echoing on his ears. Pain flooded through Harry’s body in its wake. Draco was still against him, heavy in Harry’s arms. He didn’t make a sound. Around them the murmur of small voices swelled, followed by the sound of cutlery being laid down. 

“Is that Harry _Potter_?”

“What’s he doing ―” 

“He’s killed someone!”

“Shut up, he has _not_ , he’s been fighting, he’s a hero! I bet he’s _saved_ them.”

“There’s so much blood. I don’t like this ―”

“Don’t cry, Eveline, it’s not his blood.”

The whispers echoed around the room, around Harry’s disorientated mind, and he slowly opened his eyes, wincing at the light. Candles, he saw, and tables laden with food. They were long, heavy with plates, with ripe fruit and steaming dishes, and seated each row, eyes wide and staring, were dozens of faces Harry didn’t know. He knew these stones, though. He knew the clear sky above him, knew the ties around the necks of the wide-eyed, frightened and excited students. 

He knew this place. 

“ _Harry_? Harry, what in the bleedin’ ― How did ― Yeh can’ _Apparate_ in ‘ere!”

Harry smiled, faint and tired. He knew that booming voice as it raced towards them, recognised the overwhelming relief inside him as Hagrid’s hand touched his shoulder. 

“Safe,” Harry managed to whisper, his knees buckling. Draco was heavy, but Harry didn’t want to let him go, needed to take him to the hospital. His mouth wouldn't work though, his legs giving way underneath him. His wrists _ached_ , his neck burning. 

“Tha’s righ’, yeh’re safe. Easy now, Harry. Yeh’re safe.” Hagrid wrapped an arm around his back, as more faces Harry didn’t know swam into view, only to queasily swim out of it again. He felt his teeth begin to chatter, and he clacked them shut, pulling back as someone lifted Draco out of his grip. He clenched his fingers, or tried to at least, but his wrists were throbbing, his chest aching like he’d been kicked. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. Harry couldn’t force the words out around it, couldn't manage to speak. 

His head knocked against something firm, a warm hand settling on his hair, as a deep voice crooned above him. 

“Yeh’re all right, Harry.” 

The room fell dark.

~*~


	6. Chapter 6

Harry was eating blueberries. 

He could feel the sun on his back, as it warmed him through his thin t-shirt, could feel the prickle of grass as he sat cross legged in the wild berry patch. It was lovely, he thought, as he smiled then slipped another berry in his mouth. In front of him, long legs crossed in the soft grass, Draco rested his chin in his hand. He watched Harry eat. 

“You don’t want any?” Harry asked, extending his handful of plump berries towards him. 

Draco shook his head, lips tilted into a soft smile. 

“Suit yourself.” Harry grinned as he ate another berry. “They’re good.” He swallowed his mouthful, then licked his thumb. The sun was almost too hot on his cheeks, making him squint as he looked at Draco, and he felt happy. He liked the way the heat felt on his skin, the way it glinted off Draco’s eyes. Harry smiled, the berry a soft and sweet burst of flavour of his tongue, before the sky darkened, black shapes move overhead. Harry suddenly frowned, annoyed at the birds’ soft cawing. He was bothered by them, not really, but he didn’t want to see them. He liked them, but he didn’t want them near him, not now. Not anymore. 

His stomach lurched, though, when he looked up. 

“Draco, there’s ―” Harry reached forwards, brushing his thumb against Draco’s forehead. It came away red and bloody, and Harry swallowed thickly, his heartbeat beginning to race.

Draco’s smile stayed in place. 

“It’s okay, Harry.” 

“No.” Harry dropped the berries, crushing them in his haste; the juice stained his palms a deep mauve. “No, we need.” He tried to catch his breath. “It’s not safe, we need to leave.”

Draco shrugged, his shoulders relaxed. His hairline was stained red, a deep bruise forming under his eye. Harry couldn't breathe, his throat constricting. 

“It’s okay,” Draco repeated softly, his voice a low rumble. The blood ran over his forehead, over the soft curve of his eye. “It didn’t even hurt.” 

Harry’s eyes shot open, as he jerked awake. 

“Harry, s’that you awake?”

Harry struggled to sit up, gasping for air as he pushed the tight hospital sheets away from his body. He looked around him, eyes wide and panicked, then jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up into a bleary but familiar face. 

“Harry, woah. S’all right.” Ron smiled down at him. “You’re all right, just take a moment.”

“No, I need ―” Harry tried to sit up further, even as Ron’s large hands gently guided him back down, as he spoke softly. 

“Harry, don’t sit up yet, yeah? Just take it easy, you’ll make yourself ― oh, too late.”

Harry’s stomach suddenly heaved, nausea running violently through him as his head swam. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, his stomach lurching again. A white bowl was placed beneath his chin as Harry leant over the side of the narrow hospital, heaving until his stomach, already empty, finally quietened. Harry flopped back against the bed. 

He opened his eyes to see Ron’s tired yet faintly smiling face. “Told you not to sit up,” he said easily, setting the bowl on the floor. 

Harry grunted, exhausted. “S’gross,” he mumbled, as Ron handed him a glass of water. 

“Yeah. You are gross,” Ron joked, smiling despite the bags under his eyes. “Can’t Vanish it away, either,” he said quietly. “No magic allowed in here just yet, not with you two… well.” Ron paused, sucking in a breath. Harry blinked at him, still trying to get his bearings. His head ached, his arm numb and heavy around the bicep where the gashed skin was healing. There was some kind of ointment, thick and oily, on the faint scratches on Harry’s chest, on his shoulder. Harry could smell it, medicinal and unpleasant, and he rubbed at one eye, frowning at Ron.

“Where m’I?” he mumbled. 

“St Mungo’s. Magical damage ward. You, uh.” Ron laughed. “Well, you gave half the students of Hogwarts quite a fright, so I hear. Good to see you’ve not grown out of doing that.” He smiled, lopsided and friendly. “Fucking impressive too, mate, bursting in there like that, in the middle of bloody lunch, as well. Hagrid was beside himself, and I reckon McGonagall has gone even greyer. You should _not_ have been able to do that, to Apparate inside the castle,” he said, his tone slightly admiring, slightly exasperated. 

Harry swallowed, grimacing at the pain in his throat. “Don’t know how I did.”

“Mmm. You were in pretty bad shape.” Ron scratched his chin. “I’d say the castle either let you in, or you didn’t take no for an answer. Think you might’ve been desperate.” He sighed, looking down at Harry’s knees. “You two managed to knacker yourselves good and proper, huh?” Ron said, with a friendly grimace. It was for show, Harry knew, for his sake. Inside, he suspected Ron would be in knots at the sight of Harry in a hospital bed once more, but on the outside, he was trying not to show it. Harry shut his eyes, his head throbbing. He tried to feel comforted by it, by Ron's presence, by the safety of the warm bed, but he couldn't settle. His chest still felt tight with adrenaline, with the fear that Draco was ― 

Harry’s eyes shot open when Ron’s words sank in. 

“You two, what do you mean, is Dra ― _ah_!” Harry winced, holding his hand to his head as pain lanced through his temple. He kept sliding himself upwards, though, his free hand flat on the bed. “Is Draco in here?” 

“Mate, you’re gonna spew again,” Ron said sympathetically, watching Harry try to sit up. Ron sighed, then propped a pillow up behind Harry, accepting that Harry was going to sit up regardless of what Ron told him. 

“Malfoy’s over there,” Ron said quietly, inclining his head towards the left side of the room. “He’s.” Ron shrugged, looking down. “Don’t think he’s awake now, but he was before. Sort of,” Ron said softly, his voice becoming quieter, but Harry was only half listening. 

The hospital room was small, with only the two beds in it, which separated from each other by a curtained partition. Harry couldn’t see much as he craned his head, ignoring the twinge of pain in his neck, in his throat, but he could see a pale shoulder, the top of Draco’s back. Draco lay on his side, his head bandaged lightly with a pale gauze, and his upper half bare. Harry’s chest tightened as he saw the line of Draco’s shaved hair at the nape of his neck and higher, almost ear level and just visible underneath the bandage. The strands were closely cropped, necessary given the injury at the base of his skull, Harry assumed, with the rest of Draco's hair pulled up and cleanly away at the top of his head. It stirred something inside Harry, something deep and upsetting, but Harry tried to ignore it, to push it aside. His chest _ached_ , however, with a pain that had nothing to do with the snapped bond, when he saw a violent bruise running down from the base of Draco’s neck, from the wound on the back of his head, and down his left side, like an angry jellyfish mane of mottled colour. Harry could barely breathe at the sight of it, his lips pressing together as his eyes prickled. His fingers tightened in the sheets next to him, his knees bending as he wanted to stand, to walk over to the other side of the room, to touch ― 

Before he could even finish the thought, Harry saw a brief flash of white blond hair, of an aristocratic face, before the curtains twitched closed. Harry stared at the light blue curtain, at the unnatural fall of the material, now blocking his view of Draco and his mother. 

“You okay, Harry?” Ron queried softly. Harry looked at him, then slumped back down against the bed. He drew in a shaking breath, not trusting himself to speak. 

“She’s been here as long as I have,” Ron said. He inclined his head towards where Narcissa had been when Harry still didn’t say anything. “Well.” Ron sniffed. “As long as we all have, really. Mum’s only just dragged Herm home now for some tea, and half the sodding family were here, watching you sleep and pissing the Malfoys Senior off by existing, no doubt. But I wanted to be here, when Mum and Dad and everyone else left, you know, in case you. Well. In case you woke up, and you were. Maybe you’d need.” Ron shook his head, unable to finish. His eyes were suspiciously bright. 

Harry swallowed thickly, his stomach twisting at the look on Ron’s face. 

“Case I needed someone to throw up on?” Harry croaked. 

Ron barked a loud laugh, then made an apologetic face at the other bed in the room. 

“Yeah.” He smiled, wiping at his cheek. “I’m your man.” He sniffed one last time, sitting down on the edge of Harry’s bed, then sighing. “Auror’s’ll be in here again in the morning.” Ron grimaced. “Reckon I ought to give you fair warning. There’s. Well, no one seems to have much of an idea what the bloody hell went on there, and they’re desperate to talk to you, find out more about this mad bloke, but so far the Healers have been chasing them off with pitchforks or whatever implements angry medical staff have. Aggressively waved charts, I s’pose. But anyway. They’ll be in again in the morning, to see if you’re awake and try and hear what happened, get the full story out of you two. They’ve had people at the site, got a rough idea of what went down, but you know. They’re a bit frantic, given this seems like it was an inside job. Got a list of questions as long as your arm.” Ron patted Harry’s knee. “Thought I ought to warn you. They were already trying to question him earlier,” Ron tilted his head towards the curtain, "got some information out of him too, but he wasn't in great shape really and his mum shot that down without even raising her voice. She’s kind of terrifying.” Ron wrinkled his nose, but smiled in almost begrudging respect. 

Harry cleared his throat, eyes shut as he tried to quash the dread inside him. “It wasn’t.” He swallowed then tried again. “It wasn’t _anything_ to do with Draco, he didn’t ―”

“Oh, no, no.” Ron scooted closer on the bed, until his thigh hit the metal railing and he couldn’t sit any closer. “No one thinks that,” Ron said earnestly. He laughed, and it was a little wry. “I mean, I’m sure there’d be people who’d want to pin it on him perhaps, or suspect he was involved, but.” Ron turned back to Harry’s now open eyes. “Reckon it’s a bit hard to suspect someone who looks like they so obviously copped the worst of it.”

Harry’s stomach plummeted. He turned his face to the side, then let his cheek rest against the pillow propped up behind him. 

“What’s wrong with his back?” Harry said hoarsely. “What’s,” he swallowed, trying to speak as clearly as he could, “what was…”

Ron made a sympathetic face. 

“I don’t really understand it, to be honest,” Ron started. “Need Hermione here, or Bill, they get it way better than I do.” Ron sighed, mouth twisting to one side as he searched for the words. “It’s residual magic overload, I think that’s what they called it. Ever heard of it?”

Harry shook his head, confused. 

“No, me either. S’rare, they said, I remember that much. Takes something big to cause it. Usually an explosion, something along those lines. But sometimes, an unexpected surge of magic nearby can cause it, and that. Well, that happened here.” Ron sighed, as if dreading what he was going to say next. “Basically, when you, well. When you did whatever you did with the, the conduit magic site.” Harry winced, and Ron held up a hand. “No, no, don’t look guilty, it's not like that. But when you did that, you had access to a lot of magic, a _lot_ , and then you broke this bond thing, the thing that Peter guy ―” 

“Per,” Harry corrected, stomach rolling again. He wanted to be sick, his chest tight with guilty nausea. He couldn't get the image of Draco’s darkly bruised back, the spiral of angry veins and mottled purple bruises and the dull bandage over the shaved back of his head, out of his mind. _I was going to cut his hair_ , he thought inanely, his throat suddenly in a vice. _He was going to let me cut his hair_. 

“Well, the excess magic from the broken bond,” Ron went on, “that was the issue, really. It just. It all went into him, because of the, uh.” Ron tapped the back of his head. “The head wound,” he said quietly, as if not wanting to upset Harry. “The Healers were saying excess magic like that, well, it has to go somewhere, and it would choose the easiest point of entry. You got a fair whack of it, been out for a day and half, in fact. There’s an almighty bruise on your arm, too, where you had a gash. Looks like you lost a fight with a Hippogriff. But. Well. His injury was pretty bad, so it meant he absorbed the most of it.” Ron stopped, his face creasing in sympathy as he saw Harry’s stricken face. “Sorry, Harry ―” 

“What else,” Harry said, voice cracking. It hurt to speak, but Harry knew there was more, something Ron hadn’t told him. Ron’s flinch told him he was right. 

“Um.” Ron rubbed his hand over his own knee, looking down at his knuckles. “There’s been some damage to his eye. Left one.” Ron tapped just under his eye with two fingers; Harry could barely see it around the burning in his own eyes, the horrible lurch in his chest, the thump in his head. “Spell damage, they said. Apparently he hurt the optic nerve when he hit his head, when his brain got knocked forward against his skull. And then, with the excess magic, it was another easy point of entry.” 

Harry groaned, low and miserable. “How badly ―” he tried, heart hammering and throat dry. 

“Hey, no, it’s okay, he’s not blind or anything. It’ll heal, it’ll all heal ― 

“It’s my fault, though,” Harry continued, irrationally guilt-ridden and his voice cracking as he sat forward. “It’s my fault, with the bond, and now he’s ―” 

“Alive, yeah?” Ron interrupted forcefully. “Because you broke the bond. If you hadn't he’d be dead,” Ron said bluntly, trying to cut through Harry’s panic. When it didn’t work, when Harry’s breathing didn’t settle, Ron stood up, then sat next to Harry at the top of the bed 

“C’mere,” he said roughly, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders. 

“I don’t need a hug,” Harry said quickly, blinking rapidly against the hot prickle in his eyes. 

Ron grunted. “Well, I do,” he said, pulling Harry gently against him. “You look fucking awful, mate.”

Harry looked down at his wrists, unable to reply. He glanced over at the curtain, separating his bed from Draco’s, feeling his chin wobble, his lower lip trembling. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth. 

_He was going to let me cut his hair_ , he thought again, just as something in him cracked. He didn’t know why that had set him off, why the idea of that made him bury his face in his hands as Ron rubbed a palm between his shoulder blades. He didn’t know why he cared so much that half of Draco’s hair was cropped short, because he didn’t, not really ― it was just hair, and they were alive, that was what really mattered. But it stuck in his chest somehow, an awful clog of emotion, until Harry suddenly choked out a loud sob, embarrassing in its sincerity and volume. His face crumpled as Ron moved a little closer, his arm still around Harry’s shoulders in a solid embrace that Harry needed but would never have asked for. 

Draco looked wrong, Harry thought, in the sterile hospital bed and covered in pale bandages, his skin bruised and angry and his hair close cropped, and _Harry_ had wanted to do that. Draco hadn’t wanted anyone else to do it, hadn’t wanted anyone else near his head, but he was going to let _Harry_ do it. It should have been him, not some hospital nobody lopping it off in pale clumps. 

Harry pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, as Ron rubbed his back again and shushed him in soothing motions. There was so much blood, Harry thought, all over him, on the rocks and on Per’s face, and none of it for any reason at all. Per was dead, and he didn't need to be, fighting for causes that created nothing good, that only hurt people. Helplessly, Harry cried, angry and miserable and exhausted. 

So much blood, and for no reason at all. 

Ron stayed with him all evening, even managing to get Harry to eat a few grapes after a bevy of Healers poked and prodded and measured at him. Harry couldn't stop staring at the curtain separating his bed from Draco’s, but he managed a smile when Ron complimented his ‘ _lovely backless dress_ ’ as he pointed at Harry’s awful hospital gown, then finished off Harry’s bunch of grapes for him. Harry’d choked a laugh, the sound thick and sounding close to a sob, but Harry knew the difference. Ron’d sat with him, prattling on pleasantly, his hand by Harry’s head as Harry stared at the hospital ceiling. He felt hollow, wrung out, but not alone, and that had to count for something. In the long run, Harry knew it counted for a lot. 

Some time after nightfall, Harry fell into an exhausted sleep. 

When he woke, Ron was gone. The room was dark, lit sparsely by a small floating lamp. There was a small note on Harry’s bedside, saying Ron would be back in the morning, that Harry ought to sleep as much as he could, and that they’d bring some decent food with them, too. Harry read it with unfocussed eyes, struggling to reach his glasses and fit them onto his face. His head wasn’t spinning nearly as badly, but he still felt a little off, a little dizzy. His stomach had settled, though, and he lay back down, running a hand through his messy hair and sighing. 

Harry turned back to the other side, wincing a little at the twinge in his arm, then stilling when he saw the curtain was open, pulled to one side slightly unevenly. Harry suspected, from the lack of sound and the late hour, that Draco’s mother had gone, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t want to face anyone else right now, not until the morning at least. He let his eyes travel lower, adjusting to the darkness. He sat up again quickly when he looked down at the bed, saw Draco’d adjusted onto his other side and was now facing Harry. His eyes were open, one covered slightly by a soft gauze, as he looked back at Harry. 

“Draco?” Harry whispered urgently, sitting up further. His heart was pounding as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, determined to ignore the queasy spin of his head “Draco, are you awake?” he whispered again.

Harry let his breath out shakily when Draco nodded, cheek brushing against the pillow. “‘M thirsty,” he mumbled, his voice cracked and scratchy. 

Harry shot up, holding the bed for a moment as the room spun violently. He waited until he regained his balance ― _bloody spinning head_ , he thought, determined to ignore it ― then picked up his own water glass. He padded barefoot across the room on wobbly legs, turning the straw so Draco could drink from the narrow glass without having to sit up. Harry watched him, silently, even as his blood thumped in his own ears. 

His fingers ached to touch Draco, to curve around the jut of his shoulder, his neck, anything. He wasn't sure, though, if he should, if he was allowed to. So much had happened, between the pair of them standing on the grassy patch leading to the valley, the sun in their eyes and smiles on their faces, and now. Harry wanted comfort, desperately, and to offer it in return, but he stood uncertainly at the side of the bed instead, feet getting cold against the hospital floor. He watched Draco drink. 

After a moment, Draco gently knocked the straw away. 

“Thanks,” Draco croaked, then licked his lips, his eyes unfocussed. His forehead was visible, his remaining hair pulled up tightly and the pale skin looking even paler than usual, and Harry suddenly wanted to kiss it, to feel warm skin against his own. His chest tightened, and Harry looked away suddenly, staring down at his feet. 

“You're welcome,” Harry said quietly, relieved beyond words to hear Draco’s voice and entirely uncertain what to do here as Draco stared up at him. Harry placed the water glass on the bench beside Draco, making sure the straw was faced towards him. He was about to go back to his own bed, to let Draco rest and not to pester him, when he heard the bed sheets rustle, saw Draco trying to sit up. 

“Should I get a Healer?” Harry whispered, worried. 

Draco shook his head, only the barest of movements, before pushing up onto his elbow. He slowly inched backwards, towards the edge of the narrow bed, wincing slightly as he did so. Harry frowned, not sure how to help, or what Draco was trying to do. He was about to offer to get someone again, when Draco sighed, slowly resting his cheek back down on the pillow. He rested his hand on the free half of the bed that he’d just vacated, then peeled the sheet back in a clumsy movement, in a soft invitation. 

“I.” Harry swallowed, then tried again. “I won’t fit,” Harry managed around the lump in his throat. 

“'S’you will,” Draco replied thickly. 

Harry took a step closer, then gingerly sat down on the bed. He let his hand rest next to Draco’s, careful not to jostle him, to move the bed too much. He swallowed again, then rubbed his hand over his mouth. 

“I don’t.” Harry stopped, shaking his head as his voice cracked. “I don’t want to hurt ― You’re hurt, and I don’t want to make it worse, if I ―” 

“Harry,” Draco interrupted. He moved his index finger, let it slide over the knuckles of Harry’s hand. “My head hurts,” he said quietly, his eyes shut. “My face hurts. My back hurts. My.” Draco licked his dry lips. “Even my hands hurt. But this doesn’t.” He lifted his hand, opening his eyes as he gestured at Harry with two fingers, at the air between them, then at himself. He let his hand fall back down to the bed. “This doesn’t hurt,” he said again, holding Harry’s eye contact. “Please?” he whispered, almost too quiet to be heard. Harry caught it all the same. 

Harry nodded, unable to reply. Gently, he lay down facing Draco, then slowly arranged the thin, starchy hospital sheets over both of them, careful to avoid Draco’s back. He let his hand trail over Draco’s arm, then down to the back of his hand. Draco sighed softly, his breathing slow and sleepy but his eyes open as he looked at Harry.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked stupidly after another moment of silence in the dark room. Slowly, tentatively, Draco nodded, his eyes falling closed. 

“Yeah. Think so.” Draco pressed his cheek against the pillow. “Are you?” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. 

“Yeah,” Harry replied quickly, and he thought it was true; he felt far from good, from normal, but he knew he was okay, and that he’d feel even better in the morning, after more sleep. 

“Good,” Draco mumbled, voice low and tinged with emotion. 

Draco was silent for so long that Harry wondered if he’d fallen back asleep. He startled slightly when Draco spoke, eyes still shut but expression relaxed. 

“It’s funny,” Draco said quietly. “That of all the things that could have happened out there.” He inhaled deeply, then let his eyes slide open. “I just hit my head on a sodding rock,” he said crisply, or as crisp as he could given he sounded still a little tired, a little groggy. 

Harry choked a laugh. “You're all right, though?” Harry cringed, hating the wobble in his own voice. He could still picture the damp, dark patches on the back of Draco’s grey top, could still remember the way his body went limp against Harry. Harry shuffled slightly closer as Draco nodded, as much as he could without really moving his head. 

“Eye feels weird,” Draco murmured. Harry’s stomach lurched. 

“Is it sore?”

Draco made a half-hearted sound, then shrugged. “It’s not really anything, right now. I can’t really see out of it, but that’s the bandage, I think. The Healers, Healer Harmony or some awful name like that, spoke to me earlier.” Draco smiled lopsidedly. “I understood possibly 20% of what he was saying to me, and that’s being generous. The gist was that there’ll be some permanent damage, but nothing dire.”

Harry swallowed, heart pounding. “Permanent?” he whispered, horrified. 

Draco hummed. “Tritanomaly,” he said slowly, as if the word was new and he was being careful to pronounce it correctly. “Colour-blind,” he said, when Harry’s frown deepened. “I’ve lost the colour blue,” he joked. “That’s all. Just on the left side.” 

Harry breathed out on a low sigh. He couldn't say it was relief, because he still felt awful, but he was deeply glad it wasn't anything worse. Draco didn't seem bothered at all, as he watched Harry with his one open eye, the other half-obscured by the gauze. 

“That.” Harry but at the corner of his lip. “I’m glad it’s not sore,” he said, stupidly. Draco hummed in agreement. 

“No, s’not really. The patch isn’t staying, either,” he said, “for which I am eternally grateful.” 

Harry huffed a laugh, stretching his legs out and letting his toes bump against Draco’s ankle. “No Mad-Eye Malfoy jokes, then?” he tried, biting his lip. He felt himself smile when Draco breathed a soft laugh,

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Draco said, his voice low and fond. Harry smiled crookedly back at him. 

“Healers’ll probably flip,” Harry said quietly, after a moment. “If they see this.” He stroked his thumb over the back of Draco’s hand, to his knuckles and then back to his wrist again. He wondered if Draco’s wrists ached like his did, if he’d felt the bond snap as well. He wanted to ask him, suddenly, to ask what everything felt like ― why he hadn’t moved when Per had pointed his wand at him, if he’d felt the magic as it tried to drag Harry down when Harry hadn’t known when, or how, to stop. Harry wanted to ask if Draco had felt any of it, the Apparition to Hogwarts, through barriers Harry shouldn't have been able to break, if he remembered coming to St Mungos, if it was all a blur for him or if he remembered it clearly, like Harry did. He wanted to ask Draco about everything, every little thing he remembered and how it felt, each step of the way: the sun on his back as they walked along the trail, the rain on his cheeks. How he’d slept in the cabin, with the two of them pressed up against each other, if he'd had enough room. Harry wanted to know every inane thing, every stupid detail he hadn't asked about before, and he pressed his lips together, letting the feeling rise inside him. He didn’t know what to do with it, so he did nothing, just let it build inside him, wonderful and frightening and soothing all at once. 

Harry stroked his thumb back over Draco’s knuckles. 

“They’ll probably kick me out,” he said thickly, shutting his eyes quickly and then opening them again. 

“No,” Draco said softly. “Don’t need to worry about the Healers.” He smiled lightly, one corner of his mouth ticking up and his cheek dimpling. “S’my mother you need to worry about,” he joked. “She'll hit the roof if she sees this.”

Harry breathed a soft laugh. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yes. Ranting about underfinanced hospitals forcing occupants to share beds, I imagine.” The corner of Draco's eyes creased as he smiled. “She's good at an imperious rant. We have that in common.”

Harry laughed again, despite himself. 

“Perhaps that’s why her wand worked so well for me.” Draco paused, then ran his tongue over his lips, shifting gingerly against the sheets. Harry suddenly wanted to cradle his head, to make sure he was fine, but he held it back.

“You used her wand?” he queried gently, fingers still stroking Draco’s skin. Draco hummed. 

“Yes. Before I got my own. And now... Well, that’s gone.” Draco blinked slowly. “I think I might need my old wand back, after all,” Draco said softly, still smiling sleepily. “If you still have it.”

His voice was thin, so tired Harry could feel it, but the smile was familiar, as was the crease of his eyes as he looked at Harry. Harry’s chest ached again, at the memory of Draco’s wand still sitting on his shelf at Grimmauld Place, and at the familiarity of that smile. 

“Yeah, you,” Harry swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Of course you, you can ―” Harry cut himself off, his voice cracking embarrassingly before he gave in and quickly pressed his lips to Draco’s cheek, to his warm skin, in the softest kiss he could manage. 

“I want to keep doing this,” Harry whispered, swallowing thickly. He kissed Draco again, another soft brush of lips over the curve of his cheek when Draco made a soft sound. “When you’re better,” Harry added roughly. “And now. I want to keep, to just keep being around you,” he blurted stupidly. “I want you to come to my house, to sit with me in the pub, with Ron and Hermione or even just that bloody cat. I want to sit with _you_. I want. I just want.” Harry licked his lips. “You said to ask you again, when we got home, and.” Harry cut himself off, shutting his eyes and then his mouth against the deluge of things he wanted to say. _Not now_ , he thought, _not here_. He lay back down, trying to curb his emotions, to stuff the burst of them back down. 

“Sorry. God,” Harry mumbled, pressing his cheek against the pillow, his knees bumping against Draco’s. “S’not the time is it?” He bit his lower lip, looking up at Draco’s wide eyes. He could only see half of his left eye, the deep bruise underneath it, but his gaze was fixed on Harry. “I should wait,” Harry murmured, searching Draco’s expression. There were so many things they needed to talk about, about what had happened in the valley, and yet Harry couldn't explain why this felt like the most urgent, the most important. “I should have waited...” Harry trailed off when Draco lifted his hand, long fingers brushing over Harry’s sternum then up to the collar of his hospital gown. Slowly, with some effort, Draco pushed up onto one elbow, his expression a mix of determination and discomfort. Harry frowned, opening his mouth to speak, but Draco shook his head sightly. 

“Harry.” Draco moved his hand once more, bunching the material in a loose fist. He pulled on it once, and then again, until Harry got the hint and shuffled closer once again. Draco’s knuckles bumped against Harry’s throat as he hooked his fingers in the collar of the light blue material, then left them there. “Shut up,” Draco said softly, affectionately. His lips brushed against Harry’s as he parted them, and then again more deliberately. Harry leant into it, turning his face when Draco tilted his chin down so he could kiss Harry’s cheek. 

“Same,” Draco whispered roughly, his fingers against the dip of Harry's throat. He kissed Harry’s cheek again, then the corner of his mouth. He pulled back, his expression tired but happy, his eyes bright despite the tired lines of purple underneath. 

Harry let his breath out slowly, relieved and wound up all at once as he pressed his cheek against the cold hospital pillow. He felt himself smile into it, before he looked up to meet Draco’s eyes. 

“Same,” Draco repeated, as he stroked the line of Harry's neck. 

“I want to keep doing this too, Harry.”

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> say hello to me on [tumblr](https://shiftylinguini.tumblr.com/) if you like xxx


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